Misdialed
by kissesblow
Summary: Today's a normal day. Then I get fired. I call Alice to inform her. Except it turns out I accidentally dial the wrong number . . . and this stranger really likes talking to me on the phone. Yeah, sure - just a totally normal day. All human. E/B-centric.
1. The Anonymous Help Hotline

hey, guys. this is my first multi-chaptered twilight fic, so any guidance/feedback or anything like that would be super-appreciated, trust me. i'm posting this on ~both~ ff and twilighted, so whichever you prefer.

criticism/comments are very welcome, and any suggestions are fantastic. that being said: enjoy!

just so you know – this whole story will be in the point-of-view of bella, so don't worry about pov hopping or anything. ;)

disclaimer: stephenie meyer owns everything except for the plot – that bad boy's mine. anything else that sounds familiar is most likely not mine.

*

**friday, october 17th.**

I was sprawled across the floor, my feet crossed haphazardly in front of my body, my hands splayed behind me to support me, the back of my itchy cloth pants damp and highly uncomfortable against my (previously) dry skin, my ponytail frayed and pieces of hair falling forward and sticking to my eyelashes, and a lovely plate of meat sauce pasta with artichokes splattered across my lap.

It was just another day in the life of me, Bella Swan, the clumsiest woman ever to walk the earth.

I attempted to ignore all of the wide eyes staring in my direction as I picked myself up and brushed myself off. My cheeks were raging red, and if I paid any attention to the quick and quiet whispers, I was sure my anger would find some way to channel to my tear ducts—as it usually did—and I really couldn't afford to be caught crying at this particular moment.

Sniffing pathetically, I sloppily stacked the plates and cups in my hands. The heavy footsteps I heard against the floor were unmistakable as they came toward me at a furious pace. I didn't even bother turning around when they stopped directly behind me. I rolled my eyes.

"Bella," my boss said, his voice unsettlingly hushed and monotone. "My office. Now."

I bit my lip to hold in a sigh. "Yes, sir." I blew a stray hair out of my face and made my way to the kitchen.

As I walked past the table I'd been intending on serving, I grimaced apologetically and muttered a quick, "I'm really sorry about that."

The couple waved their hands nonchalantly. "No harm done," they said—which, for the record, wasn't entirely true, I thought as I glanced at the mess of pasta and sauce on the plates in my hand and surveyed the chip that decorated the edge of one of the plates. _Lovely_. Despite their words, I caught the envy in their eye as their eyes followed a steaming plate of steak being served to another couple's table.

I sighed again. "I'll be sure that you receive a free desert or something," I mumbled, and walked away.

I passed Emmett, my good friend and coworker, on the journey back, and he patted me on the shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. I laid my head on his shoulder and whined. "This is not good," I groaned.

"Don't even worry about it, Bells," he said while he rubbed my back soothingly. "It happens so often, no one even cares anymore." I slapped his back, and he jerked away from me and chuckled. The next moment, he gripped my shoulder and pushed me from him, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow at me. "But seriously, I'm getting freaking tired of cleaning up your messes." He thrust the mop in his hand playfully at me and tweaked my nose with his free hand.

I laughed. "Oh Em, you big, scary, fantastic man. You're the best." Then I frowned, and looked pointedly at the _Manager's Office_ sign a few feet away, hanging proudly above a wooden door, and heaved a huge sigh. "Now, onto my death march."

He boomed a laugh and swerved the bucket full of soapy water around me, some of it slopping out and hitting my shoes. "Don't be so melodramatic, Isabella," he called over his shoulder.

"Call me Isabella one more time and you'll _see_ melodramatic," I yelled back as I shook out my feet to attempt to get rid of the spillage. He laughed once more before he disappeared around the corner to the dining area.

I plopped the spoiled dishes on the metal countertop next to the sink and chucked the chipped plate into the trash bin. "Sorry, guys," I muttered.

The washing crew smiled at me. "No problem, kiddo—we're used to it by now," someone said. I nudged him with my hip and untied my apron, setting it in the "to be washed" clothesbasket and walked to the manager's office. My fingers trembled—both with the aftershock of my embarrassing tumble and the anticipation for Mr. Varner's talk—as I knocked on the door.

"Come in, Bella."

_Oh, great. He has a freakishly scary voice _and _he's psychic. That's just lovely_, I thought to myself as I slowly opened the door. He was sitting at his wooden desk, a newspaper opened and spread across his face. His thick grey eyebrows rose as his eyes flitted to mine over the top of the paper and he folded it and set it down on his desk.

"Have a seat."

I did as I was told, my back stiff against the cushion behind it.

This wasn't the first time I'd received a lecture from Mr. Varner, but this _was_ the first time he'd asked me to come to his office. I hoped I wouldn't be making a habit of the invitations—they scared me to no end. My racing pulse was proof of that fact.

"Bella," he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the desk, "you've been a great staff member here for the past seven months. You keep the other workers happy, you know how to treat the customers correctly and politely, and you seem to cheer up the entire facility when you arrive for your shift each day."

My stomach turned. "But?" I said weakly, knowing the word was implied in the silence that followed his compliments. _Just tell me what my sentence is already_, I thought.

He rubbed his leathery face with a palm and sighed. "Do you know how many times you've spilled a customer's order in the past couple months?" He was avoiding the punishment outright—prolonging my agony. It frustrated me.

"No," I said in a clipped tone. "How many times?"

"Way too many."

"Okay."

He huffed. "It needs to end."

"Have you . . . have you received complaints from customers or something?"

"Yes. And not only that, but toppling over prepared dishes gives this restaurant a bad reputation. What do you think will be the first thing that customers tell their friends? 'That restaurant had the best alfredo I've ever tasted', or 'Our waitress tripped on the carpet when she was serving us—it took forever for the food to finally get to the table!'"

"Maybe both," I tried to joke. He didn't smile. My smile vanished. "I mean, they're both true, you know. But hopefully they put more emphasis on the first—"

"And not only that, but it wastes money and time—two things that I can't afford to lose any more of. Competition is growing steep in the neighborhood, and we've got to put our best foot forward."

"But sir," I said, "I'm sure that my clumsiness isn't putting you at _that_ much of a disadvantage. I mean, I only trip every now and th—"

"Bella," he interrupted. His eyes were sharp against mine.

I huffed, slumping back into my chair. "Okay. What's the verdict? Washing dishes for two weeks like last time? Or do you have a new penalty for me?"

He shook his head and interlaced his fingers, letting a deep breath out through his nose. It reminded me vaguely of a bull—and I was wearing the company colors: red and black. The irony struck me as funny, and I tried (and failed) to keep from giggling.

"I'm sorry, Bella. It's over."

My eyes widened and any traces of humor vanished. "What do you mean?" I was suddenly breathless.

"I mean," he said, "your time here has been well-spent, but we aren't in need of your services any more. I'm sorry, but it's time to let you go."

"What?" I very nearly shrieked, leaning forward and pressing my palms against the edge of his desk. "Mr. Varner, please. You know how clumsy I am! It's not something that'll just go away overnight."

"And that's exactly why I need to fire you, Bella. It's a trait of yours that won't go away _and_ it's causing me—and this restaurant—trouble. I'm afraid waitressing may not be your forte."

I snorted, sitting back down on the chair. "Well, of course it isn't. I don't intend to excel in the art of serving others food. I just need a job to pay for bills and personal necessities until I can lift off my career as an author—you know that, sir. And you know how hard I work at this job, how hard I try to _not_ spill any food."

His gaze was unswerving, and he didn't seem to be relenting his position on the subject of my employment at his restaurant any time soon. My stomach plummeted as cold sweat beaded on my skin.

"Please?" I tried, knowing it was hopeless.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

*

One embarrassing breakdown, six tissues from the employee bathroom, and a quick hug to each of my coworkers later, I was out on the sidewalk and walking to nowhere in particular. My apartment seemed too desolate; I wasn't hungry enough to go to a café; Alice was at work and would most likely be unable to answer her phone. I shoved my last paycheck—I whimpered pathetically—into my pocket and walked toward Central Park, swerving past the ignorant walkers on the busy New York sidewalks while fishing my cell phone out of my bag.

I normally didn't call Alice while she was at work, but this was a time when I really needed her. And I was sure she'd understand my abrupt phone call during her busiest time of day—those unruly fashion magazine photographers and editors would have to wait. My fingers fumbled over the keys as I entered her number, and my free hand tapped against my leg as I waited for her to pick up.

The phone stopped ringing, and I couldn't hold it in any longer—I spilled.

"I just got fired. Oh my god, _I just got fired_. I was fired from my job. I've never been fired from anything in my _entire life_. Apparently I had spilled a total of—what did my boss say again?—oh, 'way too many' orders over the past month, and I did it again today. I wasn't watching where I was going, slipped on a wet spot on the tile floor, and dropped a table's order. I guess it was the last straw for him. I'm now jobless. My last paycheck was just enough to help cover my past month's apartment rent and pay for the bills I had been behind on. I'm just now caught up on all of my payments, and now _this_ happens. Not to mention the fact that I haven't been with a guy in . . . well, you know how long it's been. Forever. That really doesn't help much at all. _Plus_, my novel-in-progress has been at a standstill recently: I am out of any and all inspiration possible. And I know that you're at work right now, and I don't want to bother you because I know how busy your life is, and I know I never ask you for anything, but would it be terrible if I came to live with you for a while? I'll just be there until this period of _awfulness_ is over and I can get back on my feet steadily. I understand if it isn't a good time—I know that you're in the very heavy-duty process of packing up and moving in with Jasper in a few months—but . . . oh, Alice. I don't know what to do. I'm in way over my head in this city. I feel so lost."

Feeling better after having gotten all of my sadness for myself out of my system, I dropped my head into my hands, sat down in the nearest bench, and fought for breath while I waited for Alice's response.

Five seconds passed without a word. I looked up and frowned. That was extremely un-Alice-like.

"Alice?" I asked confusedly. "Alice . . . are you there? Alice, I really need your help."

I heard someone clear their throat and slow, soft breathing on the other end. "It sounds like you've had a terrible day. I'm so sorry all that happened to you," said a voice that most definitely wasn't Alice's. Most importantly, the biggest difference was that this was a man's voice. It was deep and rich—completely different from Alice's high-pitched, upbeat, and cheery tone.

I froze, my spine straightening against the bench as I shot up against its back. "Um, who is this?"

There was silence, and then the man chuckled. "Shouldn't I be asking _you_ that question?"

I blew out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "Well—no—you shouldn't be—I called—I don't know who you are," I sputtered, and then regained control of the word circuit between my mind and mouth, thinking of Alice and this total stranger that was on her phone. Panic struck, and with it came my maternal instinct, full-force. "Where's _Alice_? What are you doing on her cell? Do you work with her? Is she there beside you? Does _she_ know you? I swear, if you've hurt Alice in any way, I'll—"

"Hold on," he said quickly, and I could hear him fumbling in the background. "I don't know who Alice is, or who you are. This isn't your friend's phone number, I assure you."

"No," I argued. "No. _This_ is her number. She's my best friend—_I think I'd know her phone number_."

"Do I sound like Alice to you?" He laughed.

I made a noise in my throat. "Then who _are_ you?"

"Who are _you_?" he retorted. I could almost hear the smile in his voice, and it bothered me to no end.

I bit my lip, my head spinning, and scrolled through my phone's recent calls. I carefully checked the last outgoing phone number, and it seemed to be the same as Alice's—wait. It was one number off. I must have pressed the eight rather than the seven in my haste. Oh.

I brought the phone back to my ear, silent and clueless as to what to say. "I'm so sorry," I said finally. I flushed at the thought of whining about my pointless life to this complete stranger. And I even talked about not having dated a man in . . . oh, gosh. I reddened further. "I must've called the wrong number. I didn't mean to waste your time. I'll just go now. Just forget I even called. Goodbye," I said awkwardly, unsure of how to end this strange phone call.

"Miss?"

I hesitated. "Yes?"

He expelled a long breath into the phone. "If you ever want to talk about anything, I can listen."

"Are you crazy?" I said loudly. Several people walking nearby and others seated on benches across from me snapped their heads in my direction and gawked. I dropped my eyes to my lap and fiddled with my fingers, my face so hot I could rival the sun.

He paused. "Last time I checked, I was relatively sane."

"Are you serious?" I tried again.

He paused again, and then chuckled. "Last time I checked, I was relatively serious."

I almost laughed, but the day's sour events kept my mood from brightening. The weather wasn't helping either, I thought as I glanced up at the gloomy sky. "I don't know if you know this, _but I don't actually know who you are_."

He laughed loudly; his laugh made up for my lack of one. The sound made the corner of my mouth tip up. "As hard as it may be for you to believe," he said playfully, "I am aware of that fact. That still doesn't change my offer."

"Doesn't talking about your life to a stranger seem at all odd to you? I mean, taking it from personal experience—as in, just a minute ago, I was ranting about my inane life to you—it seems awkward." I raised an eyebrow.

"I think it's the best way to go, actually. A stranger can't see you. A stranger can't interfere in your personal life. A stranger has no effect on you. It's almost like an anonymous help hotline, really."

"And you'd be my anonymous helper?"

"The best one you could ask for."

I smiled. This man and his voice were having an effect on my level of optimism. It was a nice feeling, the warmth rising in the pit of my stomach. "Hm, you bring up an interesting point. It still feels weird, though," I said.

"If _I_ wanted to tell _you_ about _my_ life, would you listen?"

I chewed on my thumbnail—listening to a stranger talk about their life? I shook my head. Then I realized that half of the shows on television were "reality" shows, filled with real people. Maury, Oprah, Montel, even Jerry Springer: they were all about having guests on the show to talk about themselves. And I'd watched my fair share of Oprahs. So I'd already _technically_ listened to people I don't know raving about their lives . . . "I guess I would, yeah."

"So," he said, "wouldn't you grant me the same privilege?"

I tried not to laugh, and then failed miserably. "You think that listening to your life would be a privilege? That's a little presumptuous, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." He chuckled. "That doesn't make it any less true."

"Ah, I see."

"And I'm positive that hearing about your life would be a privilege to me, don't you worry."

"Yes, I definitely would've lost sleep thinking about whether or not you enjoyed my endless monologue."

"Polite _and_ witty. I bet you're beautiful, too." His voice was thoughtful.

His overtly flirtatious words surprised me, and I flushed and ducked my head into the front of my coat. He took my silence as an answer and laughed quietly into the phone.

"Do you do this often, mystery man?" I asked.

He cleared his throat. "What do you mean by 'this'?"

"You know—answer unfamiliar numbers, talk and flirt to the stranger, and proceed to ask about said stranger's life?"

"Yes," he answered, clearing his throat again. "All of the time, actually. It's a little hobby of mine."

"I knew it," I said, smiling.

"Honestly, though, this is the first time. Usually I don't answer numbers that I don't recognize, but I was waiting for a phone call, and I answered the phone as soon as it rang. Let me tell you—you were not the person I was expecting to speak with."

I tried to see his answering my call as a simple mistake, and that I wasn't an exception to his usual behavior toward phone calls—my trying wasn't succeeding, and I felt a little giddy that I was his _first_. I giggled behind my hand. Then I processed his words. "Wait, are you—are you still waiting for that call?" I asked, stumbling over my words. "I'll go—"

"No, it's fine. Don't go. It wasn't imperative; this is a much more interesting conversation, anyway." I didn't miss the way he said "don't go"—a polite command, almost pleading. His pensive tone made my face red again.

A sudden thought struck me. "Now, let's get one thing straight."

"Yes?"

"Actually, a couple things straight."

"Sure thing."

"How old are you? I mean, you're not some gross fifty-year-old pervert who just sounds really young on the phone, are you?"

His laughter was loud this time, and I smiled—I felt satisfied that I could make him so amused. "That would be really crass, wouldn't it?" I nodded in agreement even though he couldn't see me. "No, I'm not fifty."

I wanted to ask how old he was, but that would most likely qualify as a question relating to his life, and I had decided that telling a stranger about your life was odd, and slightly How-To-Catch-A-Predator-esque. I'd seen that show, and I didn't want to become an anonymous fourteen-year-old victim. I bit my tongue to keep from asking.

He answered anyway, his voice rushed, as though I didn't believe he wasn't a pedophile. "I'm twenty-three." He was only one year older than me.

"And how do I know you're not some drug dealer or murderer or something?"

"You don't," he answered in a grave and utterly serious voice.

I paused for a moment, and then snorted. He laughed loudly again; the sound was like velvet.

"I promise you, I'm just a normal, twenty-something guy with a normal job and a normal apartment."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

"My word is exceptionally trustworthy; you needn't worry."

We were at some invisible threshold, straddling the line between strangers and anonymous acquaintances. If I told him my age, or anything else about me, really, there was no doubt that we would be interested in learning more about one another. I knew next to nothing about this man, but the interest I had in his voice and his mind was both unsettling and unfamiliar. I knew he felt the shift in the atmosphere between our two phones, too, and I was suddenly holding the phone tensely in my hand.

So . . ." he said slowly. "What do you say?"

"You mean, what do I think of this whole 'anonymous help hotline' thing?" I clarified. I was buying time, and I could tell that he knew I was.

"Yes, 'this whole thing.'" His voice was smiling.

". . ."

"Please?"

"Why are you so interested in hearing about my life? What separates me from the rest?" I asked.

He sucked in a breath. "Well, I suppose that after hearing the message that you intended to leave for your friend—" I grew red again at the thought of him hearing about the ins and outs of my life "—I just figured that maybe there was something I could do . . . to . . . help."

I raised my eyebrows. "So, you pretty much want to have a pity date with me over the phone? You know, pity's the last thing I'm looking for."

"Pity's the last thing I want to have for you," he said softly. "_Help_ is more like it. A listening ear. An open mind. An empty shoulder, if you will."

"Crying is my strong point, I'll give you that. My tear ducts are hotwired to my emotions."

"I'm happy. Crying is such a turn-on," he stage-whispered in a teasing voice.

Snickering, I said, "Good to know. I'll have to remember that."

". . ."

". . ."

"So? What do you say, my anonymous stranger who is apparently in need of some dire life assistance?"

I laughed and closed my eyes, reveling in the sheer craziness of this all. I lose my job. Then I call my friend. But, I accidentally call a stranger in the process and, without realizing it, spill my misery about my recent unemployment, the fact that I can't continue writing my novel with consistency, and the inexistence of a significant other. And he wants to know _more_ about me? It was insane.

I took a deep breath as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. The bright white light hit my eyes, kissed my face, and I closed my eyelids and drank in the feel of the sun's warmth on my skin, finding confidence in the yellow glow and in the sensation that this man's voice gave me. It was a strange high of self-belief, and I intended to put every moment of this euphoria to use.

"Hello?" he asked. "Are you still there?"

I laughed into the phone at his persistence, and he sighed in relief that I hadn't hung up yet.

"Are you ready to be helped?" His voice had a note of finality, and I knew he was eager for answer. So I gave him one . . . kind of.

"I'll let you know," I said, and quickly hung up before he could reply, holding my breath and biting my lip. This was the first time I'd ever done anything even remotely like that, and that fact alone sent my happiness reeling higher. I flung my hands over my face and shook my head back and forth, squealing like a little child and not caring who saw or heard me. It felt freeing; careless. It felt fantastic.

*

I kept my eyes carefully focused on my thumbs this time as they dialed Alice's number, making sure I was typing the correct number. Someone picked up after the first ring.

"Hello?"

I sighed in relief. "Hey, Alice. How are you?"

"Sweetie! I'm doing fine—a little busy, but you know me. I like the chaos."

I grinned. "You sure do."

"So . . . how are _you_?"

"Funny you should ask that . . ."

"Why is it funny?" she asked quickly. I rolled my eyes. Alice: always the protective one. I tried to imagine her as a grizzly bear, with coarse hair, a big snout, and the biggest attitude problem to anyone who came within a mile of her—and me as her delicate baby cub. The image came surprisingly easily, much to my amusement. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I got fired," I said bluntly. Might as well get it out there then hold it in any longer.

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry." Her tone was soft now. "Are you doing okay? What happened? Do you need me to come home? I can leave work early and head over to your place. We can choose a movie or two to watch and have a little therapy sleepover, completely with chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup and chocolate chips and—"

"I'm fine. It was nothing, really. I just stepped on Mr. Varner's toes one too many times. The sleepover sounds great, but don't leave work early. Can you just come over after you get out of the office?"

"Of course," she said happily. "Jasper will understand."

"Cool. Sounds great." I chewed on my thumbnail, and then added, "After we watch those movies, we can talk about other new stuff, too."

"More new stuff? Like what?" Her voice was beginning to creep upward in volume and tone. I pulled the phone away from my ear a bit to decrease the damage that her voice would cause.

I paused. "I'll just tell you about it later," I said, smiling like a fool.

"Bella! You're totally grinning, I can tell!" she screeched. "What is it? What else happened today? What are you not telling me?"

I couldn't resist it. "You'll find out later," I said slowly, egging her on.

She huffed. "Bella, you can't leave me hanging like this. It's just cruel. I will kick your ass when I see you tonight, don't doubt it."

I shrugged. "If that's my punishment, then I guess I'll take it. It's been a while since I've had a good butt-kicking, anyway."

"Bella! Stop that! Spill! You've got to give me some details or something . . ." I could imagine her on the other end of the phone, her free hand closed over her free ear, crouched over her desk and listening intently to the phone, and then I laughed because I knew that was exactly what she was doing. "Bella," she whined. Great, she was bringing out the whine that has been known to stop floods and cure cancer. I had to get off this phone or I'd crack and tell everything—and this stranger caller story would definitely be better told in person. She'd thank me later.

"Oh, Alice, look at that—something has just popped up right before my eyes and grabbed my attention," I joked. "I have to go."

"Bella," she said sternly, and I was sure her hand was on her hip now, "don't you dare hang up on—"

_She is making this way too easy_, I grinned to myself, and then promptly hung up on her.

I didn't know what had gotten into me today, but I wanted it to stay there for a while.

*

thanks for reading, guys. see you next chapter!


	2. The Slumber Party

hey everyone – i'm back with a new chapter.

now, keep in mind that i normally don't write this fast, but because i'm almost on break for the holidays, and therefore have quite a bit of free time, these next few chapters will be exceptions. so don't hold me to this quick updating pace, because it ~probably~ won't last, haha. just warning you ahead of time.

the response to the first chapter was phenomenal! thank you all so much for your lovely comments and favorites and alerts. hearing about how much you enjoyed the first chapter pushes me forward, so thanks to you all.

one minor change was made in the previous chapter – i will now be keeping track of the dates in each chapter, so at the beginning of every post, there will be the date that this day is taking place on. the first chapter took place on friday, october 17th. and this chapter, as you'll see if you scroll down, also takes place on friday, october 17th.

as for the people who asked if the guy on the phone is edward . . . oh, i love you guys. here's a really huge hint: this story is e/b-centric. ;) take from that what you will, but you'll find out eventually, i promise!

disclaimer: stephenie meyer owns all of this, except for the film clueless, which is owned by . . . someone else. and the plot's mine. that being said –

read on, and enjoy!

*

**(it's still) friday, october 17th.**

Alice's jaw had been slack for so long that I feared it had actually broken from the rest of her face.

"Alice?" I waved my hand in front of her face, and when she didn't even flinch, I rolled my eyes. "Alice? Alice, if you don't say something soon, I'll contemplate a more forceful approach. I'm talking fingers around the neck, back of the hand across the cheek."

Her wide, crystal blue eyes were glued to my face, unmoving and unblinking. The fact that her eyelids hadn't closed in so long was actually beginning to frighten me, and I wondered if she was actually human.

"Alice? Just say something, _anything_. Wait . . . oh my god. Alice—have I actually driven you to speechlessness?" I gasped.

Slowly, so slowly, she nodded her head.

I heaved a sigh of relief and slumped back into the couch. "Well, at least I know your brain is still responding, even if your mouth isn't."

". . ."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this supposed to be a good reaction or a bad reaction?"

One thumb pointed up from her clenched fist that rested on her lap.

"Good. Okay." I shrugged and nodded. "You know, I think I'm going to make tea while you continue trying to make your mouth function." I pushed myself off the sofa and shuffled to the kitchen, my fluffy bunny slippers sliding easily along the hardwood floor.

As I filled up the teapot with water from the tap, I heard Alice taking shallow breaths, oxygen resuming the journey to her brain, and laughed quietly under my breath. Telling her about the call wasn't difficult, really—the true test of strength was putting it off. The moment Alice burst through my door in her rubber ducky pajamas (as was customary wardrobe to our slumber parties), the first words that flew from her mouth were, "So tell me what you said you were going to tell me!"

I'd insisted on baking cookies and sucking on therapeutic chocolate (for my terrible job loss, of course) before spilling the day's events, but I'd only got as far as mixing the dry and wet ingredients together. My heart was bursting to let someone else in my secret, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. So I had hooked my arm through hers, dragged her into the living room, and she squealed as I finally divulged in my secret phone affair, every word that had been spoken over the phone tumbling out of my mouth to Alice.

I smiled as I poured the steaming water into my mug, the tea bag bobbling to the surface. I had been expecting Alice's mouth to spew with excited words and cliché phrases, to take hold of my story and live it up to its full, lovey-dovey potential, because that reaction was just so _Alice_. But she surprised me and did the absolute opposite: she said nothing. And that alone was a much more frightening thing than if her mouth were to never close.

I used a spoon to ring the excess water from the tea bag and tossed the heavy packet into the trash, added a bit of milk and sugar to my tea, and returned to my place on the couch, looking at Alice. At first I'd been worried when Alice's jaw fell open and failed to close; now I thought it was relatively comical. She looked like little Jerry whenever he saw that Tom was coming after him.

Now, it was the non-blinking that had me worried. It made me a little scared for my life—she looked like one of those dolls whose eyes followed every movement I made but never blinked, the dolls that had haunted my nightmares for the entirety of my childhood.

Sitting down with one leg bent beneath me, I stirred my tea with the spoon as I silently, albeit semi-impatiently, waited for her vocal chords to begin working again.

One minute . . . two minutes . . . three minutes . . . I continued stirring, the only sound in the room being the swishing of tea in my mug.

Her voice was thick when she finally spoke. "That . . . was . . ." She cleared her throat. "Unexpected."

I smiled. "Oh, hi there Alice's voice," I teased gently. "I haven't heard you in a while. Welcome back."

Waving her hand in the air, she said, "Yeah, okay, enough with the jokes. Seriously, Bella, what got into you?" She eyed me half-suspiciously. "This is not the Bella I'm friends with. _My_ Bella would have hung up the second she realized it wasn't me on the other end of the phone. _My_ Bella wouldn't have flirted on the phone with a complete stranger. _My_ Bella wouldn't have agreed to continue a kind-of-friendship with this guy."

"I was not flirting!" I said, leaning forward to hit her leg with my hand. "I was just talking to him."

"Bella," she sighed wistfully, "you have so much to learn."

I groaned. "Thanks, _Mom_."

"But," she said, head high, her voice tight with purpose, "the fact remains: who are you, and what have you done with my friend, Bella Swan?"

Laughing, I replied, "Oh, don't worry—she's still here. She's just . . . revised."

"Revised?" she repeated dubiously. "Is this 'revision' thanks to Mr. Mystery Phone Man?"

"I—what?—no—of course not. This change has been a long time coming." I nodded.

"Uh-huh." Her voice was still doubtful. "This guy seems to have made quite the impression on you, Bella."

I rolled my eyes. "And your point, Alice?" I asked, wrapping my free arm around my middle and taking a sip of tea.

A small smile spread across her face. "See? You're not denying it. You are a changed woman, and you don't even realize it!" she said as she crossed her legs and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

"That's not true," I countered quietly, sipping at my tea. "I agree—I feel happier—I just don't think it's a result of talking to this man on the phone." The thought of his voice and its resonant sound ran through my head, and I bit my lip.

She grinned as though she knew just what I was thinking. "Sure."

"Really! I'm telling the truth!" I persisted.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I hear you, don't worry . . ." But the glint of mischief in her eyes definitely made worry bubble in the pit of my stomach.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, the very corner of my mouth twisting up. "You are utterly impossible," I said.

She giggled musically, something that only Alice could do. "I could say the very same about you, babe. Now," she said, leaning far forward with intent, "tell me about this man. What's he like?"

"Okay," I said, playing along mockingly and leaning forward as well. I took a sip of tea and said, "I'll tell you every single thing I know about him."

She nodded.

"He is twenty-three-years-old—"

"Just your age," she squealed.

I laughed. "He's incredibly polite, and pretty funny—"

"These are both good qualities."

"Are you going to let me finish, or will you keep interrupting me?" I said with a smile.

She bit her lip and giggled.

"He thinks crying is a turn-on."

A snort escaped her, but, true to her word, she kept silent.

"And he has a deep, smooth voice. Like velvet," I said fondly.

Her grin threatened to crack her face. "You _so_ like him," she whispered.

"Alice," I laughed, "I don't even know him!" But I didn't disagree with her words, because I couldn't. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find him the least bit intriguing, and she knew it.

A pensive look graced her face, and after a few moments, she said, "He sounds acceptable in my book."

"You've already got Jasper. I think it only matters if he's acceptable in _mine_," I pointed out, taking a swig of tea.

She smiled. "And is he?"

I tapped my index finger against my chin. "I'm not sure yet. I'll have to let you know," I said, the words eerily similar to the ones I'd spoken to Mystery Phone Man. "Though, politeness can never be a bad thing," I added charitably.

"This is so true," she agreed.

"Well, enough of this stranger chatter," I said, gulping down the last of my tea and standing up to take the mug back to the kitchen. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure," Alice called from the couch. "But don't think that'll make me forget about him!"

"With your strapping mind, I know that there's no chance of you forgetting about the mysterious stranger for a while," I said, chuckling, as I rinsed out the cup in the sink. "How about some _Clueless_? Classic nineties movies are the best for a Friday night with a girl friend."

"_As if_," I heard her whine in perfect imitation of Alicia Silverstone in the film, and I laughed as she said, "Okay, good movie." When I returned to the living room, she was getting the DVD out of its case and placing it in the DVD player beneath the television.

"Oh, hey," she said, switching on the television and snatching the remote control.

"Yeah?"

"What was the thing about him being turned on by crying?"

I tossed my head back and laughed. "It's . . . a long story," I told her, chuckling.

"Getting off the hook is not your forte," she said, shaking a finger before my face. "Just remember that, little Bella."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, master Alice."

*

_Clueless_ was always the film to get my spirits up. Seeing everyone happy and smiling right before the rolling credits gave me hope that my life would have a similar outcome, and the thought of such happiness alone caused my heart to beat furiously and the grin spread across my face.

The neon-colored credits burst onto the screen, and I sighed thoughtfully and leaned my head against the back of the sofa. I chuckled whenever Alice did the same thing, and we both looked at each other.

"What a nice, happy ending," I said.

She exhaled slowly. "Yeah. And that was such a cute, quaint little wedding. I'm not sure about all that pink—" I laughed my agreement "—but I think I may want my wedding to be like that. A tad bigger, maybe. The perfect combination of extravagant and humble."

I gasped. "Has Jasper popped the question?! When were you going to tell me?"

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Nothing like that . . . yet." Her smile was almost shy.

"Do you think he'll ask you soon?" I asked, my voice high with excitement. Alice and Jasper were made for each other—each of them a piece of their combined heart. Someday soon, I knew that Jasper would drop to one knee and ask Alice to marry him—he was the kind of man who would take his time planning out the proposal, making sure every aspect of the days leading up to it were perfectly scheduled. I was just waiting for the call from Alice, the one where her words were jumbled and rushed and her voice was high enough for only dogs to comprehend it. Until that day, though, she and I would have to be satisfied with discussing all the details of the wedding.

Her grin was irrepressible and her eyes shone. "I hope so. There have been some hints dropped," she squealed.

"Oh, Alice," I cried, "that is so wonderful!" I leaned across the sofa to hug her, and was rewarded with her arms constricting around me, as well.

When we pulled back, she said, "I mean, we're already moving in together. And when two people decide to live in the same home, there's a sense of commitment that surrounds it. Moving in together is an agreement of finality. After two people agree to live together, the last thing to agree to is marriage—bonding their lives together . . . forever."

Her voice was full of such an incredible amount of love, tears began forming in my eyes, and when I looked at her face, I could see that they were forming in hers, as well. This time she leaned toward me, and we hugged once more, and then laughed at how girly and emotional we both were. I kissed her cheek and rubbed her back before pulling away.

"I'm so happy for you two."

She nodded her head and smiled. "We are very lucky to have found each other."

"It's a blessing," I agreed, my smile mirroring hers.

A sudden thought ran through my mind. "Speaking of you and Jasper moving in with each other," I said, "one of the things I had said on the phone was an inquiry about me possibly living with you. I was wondering if it would be too much of a burden for me to live with you, Alice, just until I get back on my feet," I clarified. "I don't want to disrupt the fantastic relationship that you have with Jasper, and I definitely understand if it would be too much for me to live with you, because I know that you're in the process of packing up all your stuff and—"

"You're rambling," she laughed. "Stop that. And you could never be a burden to me, Bella. Of course you can live in my apartment for a bit."

I sighed in relief. "Thank you. It's just so that I can leave most of my stuff here, but the bills won't be so high because I'm not using much electricity or anything."

"Of course! Plus, I can help you find a new job." She winked. "I'm an expert at coloring and cutting, you know."

"I'm sure you'll be very handy with a highlighter. Your proficiency will be very much appreciated."

"Now that you say _hand_y," she said with a coy smile, and her overtly suggestive tone made me flush and duck my head, "I sent you a rather funny and somewhat naughty text message on your cell. It's one of those chain stories that got forwarded to me, and I just couldn't resist passing it along." _Of course she couldn't_. "Did you happen read it yet?"

I shook my head. "No, I haven't checked my phone since I talked to you this afternoon. Hang on, I'll read it now." I hopped up and walked back to my bedroom. "Now, just how naughty of a message is this?" I called.

"Oh, sure to make that blush spread across your cheeks and turn your face into the color of a tomato," she yelled back. I snickered and sifted through my bag. "Alice, Alice, Alice," I muttered under my breath. I found my cell phone and pulled it out.

"Is this a text that my mother would approve of?" I asked, entering the living room and sitting back down.

She tilted her head to the side in thought. "Seeing as how your mother is one of the coolest and most down-to-earth people I know . . . I'd have to say _yes_, yes she would approve."

"Good to know," I said playfully as I flipped the top of my cell open.

A message was open on the screen. _You have six missed calls. Would you like to view them?_ What in God's name . . . ? I clicked the "OK" button.

There were six missed calls from the same number that I had accidentally dialed earlier.

"Oh my god," I mumbled. "Alice—Alice, look at this." I handed her the cell phone. She stared at the screen for a few seconds, and then finally realized.

Her wide eyes flew to mine. "Is this the number that you called earlier, thinking it was mine?"

I nodded.

"So . . . that must mean that your mystery man has tried to get in contact with you, _six_ times, in the past seven or so hours?"

I nodded.

"Well," she said as she drew in a slow breath, "this is one persistent man that you have on your hands."

I started snickering while my face grew warm with blush. "I guess so."

"I don't think you should keep him waiting any longer," she decided, her eyes staring pointedly into mine.

I bit my lip. "You think I should call him now?"

She nodded fervently.

"That wouldn't seem . . . desperate, would it? Calling on the same day?"

"No," she said as she shook her head. "This—" she gestured to my cell phone, still open, with all of the missed calls still displayed "—_this_ is desperate," she laughed. "Calling him one time, over seven hours after the last time you called, is _not_ desperate. Trust me."

I narrowed my eyes. "I trusted you when you said that gum helps to cleanse the hair, and that got me four inches of hair chopped from my head."

"You pick the _one_ time that my advice shouldn't have been taken—we were in second grade!"

"I'm just saying . . ."

"_Trust me_," she urged.

I pretended to have a huge, melodramatic sigh. "If I go down, I'm taking you with me," I told her as I plucked my phone from her bony fingers.

She clapped her hands together and grinned. "If that's the price I have to pay, then I'll pay it!"

As I dialed the now familiar number, I couldn't stop the butterflies from rising in the bottom of my stomach; the surge of adrenaline that raced through my veins. It was a heart-pounding reaction, and a reaction much too strong to be associated with just calling a stranger, but it was the reaction I got. My thumb trembled just the tiniest bit, and—embarrassingly—I knew it wouldn't escape Alice's notice.

I pressed the call button and brought the phone to my ear. The fingers of my free hand tapped against my thigh in nervous anticipation.

I was surprised when someone picked up just after the first ring ended. "Hello?" It was _him_, and he sounded breathless. The velvet quality of his voice sent an unknown (but absolutely welcome) thrill up the length of my spine.

"Hi," I said shyly. Alice picked up a magazine from the couch-side coffee table and began turning the pages, a maternal smile on her face as she listened to my side of the conversation between mystery man and me.

He sighed quietly. "Hi," he said, his tone matching mine.

"How has your day been?"

"Hectic," he answered honestly, suddenly sounding very tired and experienced, "but good. I. . . um . . . I tried calling you several times." He seemed unsure of himself.

I flushed. "Yeah, I saw that when I checked my phone. Sorry. I haven't been near my phone for the past several hours."

"If you really want a phone friend, you should make it easier to get in touch," he teased.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. "I'll try to remember that next time."

"Well, that's all I'm asking for," he said in a smiling voice. "What about you? How was your afternoon? Did you finally get a hold of your friend?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I did. And my day has been pretty good, thanks. With the exception of not having a job anymore," I added as an afterthought. Alice laughed, and then coughed to try to hide it. I stuck my tongue out at her, knowing she could see me from the corner of her eye. She grinned.

He exhaled. "Ah. That is definitely a mood-killer."

"Yes, it very much so is. So now I need a new career. I'll have to grab a newspaper and look through the classifieds. But there's always tomorrow."

I heard a positive-sounding noise escape his throat. "There's _always_ the future."

"What an extraordinarily mood-lifting thought," I mused.

I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "I'm glad to help."

"Actually . . . now that you mention help . . ."

He chuckled. "Still looking for an anonymous help buddy?"

"I think I'd like that, yeah," I said, grinning.

"So, I guess we should just . . . get started? We can just call each other whenever we're looking for help, guidance, an open ear, et cetera?"

I laughed. "Did you really just say 'et cetera'?"

"Do you have some sort of problem with that phrase?" He matched my laugh.

I snorted. "You sound so smart when you say it." Alice bit her lip to keep from giggling, and I laughed quietly at her self-restraint, simultaneously grateful for and in awe of it.

"I know that when you say 'smart,' you secretly mean 'geeky,'" he teased.

"If that's the way you want to take it," I said, my eyebrows raised, "then go right ahead."

"Oh, that's okay, that's alright. I don't take offense to being geeky. In fact, I quite enjoy it. It's a well-known fact that ladies secretly go for the quiet, nerdy types."

My face grew red. "You sound like you have a lot of experience in this matter, mystery man," I said.

"Yes," he laughed, "I know quite a bit about the preferences of the _ladies_."

I snickered. "That confidence will get you far, my friend."

"Let's hope so." I flushed harder. "Anyway, back to the therapy."

I choked out a laugh. "Oh, way to make me sound like a crazy old hoot. 'Back to the therapy' . . . that's very non-psychotic-sounding," I said sarcastically.

"I thought you would appreciate that," he said with a chuckle. "Do you want to get started with it now?"

"Shouldn't we think of some . . . guidelines or something first?"

"Guidelines?" His tone was dubious, and I laughed softly at it.

"You know," I said, "to keep this strictly anonymous." I saw Alice raise her eyebrows.

"Oh." Was I imagining the undertone of regret in his voice? He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, it was as cheery as usual. "Sure—what are your thoughts?"

"So . . ." I bit my lip, thinking. "How about rule one is that we don't tell each other our names? Or where we live in the city. Or our appearances."

Playfully sardonic, he said, "All of that as rule one? That's quite a long rule."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, okay, I get that you have a refreshing sense of wittiness that you can't seem to keep bottled up inside you. You don't have to prove that to me any longer," I said as I laughed.

He chuckled in response. "Point taken. You may proceed."

"So, to summarize: rule one—we don't exchange our names; rule two—we don't exchange address or apartment numbers or anything like that; and rule three—we don't describe our appearances to each other."

"Understood. Good rules, by the way."

Against my own will, I blushed at his compliment. "It just seems like following these rules is the best way to stay anonymous, you know? This way, if we would ever cross paths in real life, in a café or something, we wouldn't recognize each other. We're friendly, but not attached."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Alice shake her head as she flipped through the magazine and mumble something that sounded like "that'll come back to bite her" under her breath. I poked my foot at her leg, and her head spun toward me. I gave her the best "what's that supposed to mean?" look that I could muster, and she just rolled her eyes and smiled wisely and went back to studying her own personal Bible. I bit my tongue, trying to remember to ask her about that little comment later.

" . . . Mm."

I smiled lightly into the phone. "Do you think you can follow those rules? They're pretty tough," I teased.

He chuckled, and I sighed quietly at the sound. "I think I'll manage. Anyway, I'm sure following them won't be as tough as trying to get a hold of you."

"Ah," I groaned, "point taken. Touché. Lesson learned. Moving on."

"So, should we have this be a weekly encounter? We call once a week—every weekend? Or do you prefer sporadic phone calls?"

"Hm . . . I think I like sporadic. Not every single day, but whenever it suits us."

"And the conversations can be as long or short as we like."

"I think that sounds great. I approve."

"Alright then." His voice was jovial. "Now that we have all the details meshed out, is there anything that you need . . . help with as of right now?"

"'Help'?" I clarified. The word sounded . . . off.

"You're right," he said, "let's not call it help. That sounds too . . . I don't know. Just not friendly. 'Help' sounds too impartial."

"I agree. Last time we talked," I said, "you mentioned something about how listening about my life would be a favor or pleasure or something."

"Yes, I believe 'privilege' is the expression I used."

"Oh, well, excuse my incorrect terms. I apologize."

His laugh was grand, and I smiled in satisfaction and awe.

"So, maybe instead of saying 'how can I help you today,' we can say, 'what favors can I fulfill today?'" I proposed.

I could hear only his breathing on the other end of the phone, and then, "I like that a lot. It fits us."

His use of the word 'us' had me blushing fire hydrant red, and Alice peeked over at me with a huge grin on her face. After a moment, I thought about the sentence I'd said, and then realized what kind of answers Alice could think up in her dirty little head to that question, I flushed further.

Shaking my head furiously at Alice's mischievous eyes, I said, "Alright, then it's a plan."

"Sporadic calls, favors fulfilled, and no extremely personal information exchanged. Do I have all the bases covered?"

I smiled in approval. "I believe you've hit a homerun," I said, and then the double entendre of my words had my previous blush deepening once more.

He cleared his throat, and his voice was a touch rougher when he said, "Thanks. Okay, so—are there any favors of yours that I can fulfill? I am at your expense."

"No, I think I'm fulfilled enough as it is, thanks for asking," I said playfully. "How about you? What do you need me to do for you?" Alice wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I covered the receiver of my phone when I couldn't keep my giggle inside.

"Actually," he sighed, "there is something that's been deeply troubling me for the past hour or so."

"Oh, okay." I sat up straighter and took in a deep breath. "What is it?"

"I've been sitting in my kitchen and wondering what on earth I should do."

My pulse sped just the tiniest bit. "What's wrong?"

"What do I choose: alfredo or meat sauce for my pasta?"

Oh . . . _oh_. That son of a . . . gun. I swear . . . "That was so not funny," I said, my words contrasting my actions as I laughed breathlessly into the phone. Alice was peering at me curiously with a sideways glance, and I couldn't find the air to explain it to her.

His laughter was quiet but unrelenting as he spoke through gasping breaths, "Yes, it was. I'm sorry to worry you, but it was worth it, just to hear your reaction."

"You know, now that you've pulled that stunt, I'm not so sure you're suitable to be my phone buddy," I said seriously—no hint of humor in my tone.

Now it was his turn worry, and after a few seconds of silence, I snickered into the phone.

He blew out a huge breath, my phone crackling with the closeness of his breath to his receiver, and my laughter couldn't be stopped.

"It's not so funny when you're the one whose leg is being pulled, is it?" I teased.

He exhaled one lone chuckle. "Your point has been made. I'm sorry for the joke earlier. Now, never do that again."

I snickered one last time. "I solemnly swear."

He muttered something under his breath that I couldn't distinguish. I glanced at Alice and saw that she was getting down to the last pages of the magazine. I wondered if not being included in the conversation was boring her, and decided I better get off the phone and continue on with the slumber party.

"I have a friend over right now—"

"Oh, I apologize for keeping you!" he said quickly.

I shook my head. "Don't apologize. I'm the one who called you in the first place, remember? Anyway, as entertaining as this conversation has been—and it really has been _so_ entertaining—I should really get off and have some girl time."

"By all means, go right ahead. Enjoy yourself." His voice was so sincere that I dropped my eyes to my lap in a strange combination of embarrassment and appreciation.

"Thank you," I said, "and you enjoy your evening."

"That's a givein," he said smoothly. I bit my lip in response.

I sucked in a breath through my nose. "So, I guess I'll talk to you . . . later. Sometime soon."

"I'll be looking forward to your call."

"Okay. Goodnight," I said, my cheeks a brilliant shade of red.

"Goodnight," he replied, in a voice so soft I could barely hear it. "Sweet dreams."

I pulled the phone from my ear and ended the call.

"Bella!" Alice shrieked, and I glanced up to see her staring at me with excited eyes. The magazine was no longer on her lap.

"What?" I asked as I fidgeted with my shirt sleeves.

She pointed at my face. "You're as red as an apple! What on earth did that man say to you to make you blush so hard?"

"Well . . . several things . . . for starters . . . he told me 'sweet dreams' right before he got off the phone," I said, highly uncomfortable.

". . ."

". . ."

"Oh my. That man is a keeper," she said in awe-filled voice.

I shook my head. "I think _you're_ falling for him more than I am."

"So you _are_ falling for him?" she asked, her tone creeping upward.

I scoffed. "Alice, how can I be falling for a man that I've never actually met? How does no one find this over-the-phone friend thing weird _except_ for me, the person who's actually engaging in it?"

"Bella," she said, exuding wisdom, "you're not looking at this romantically at all."

"Well, of course I'm not," I agreed, "because that would make me _insane_. How can I think romantically about a man that I know virtually nothing about?"

She snatched the phone from my hand and opened it, scrolling through some pages that I couldn't see. "You just wait and see . . ." she murmured.

"The fact that you keep hinting at the future, with this comment and that little tidbit you said earlier about anonymity coming back to bite me—it's really starting to creep me out."

"Darling," she said, "you've known me long enough to know that I really enjoy making predictions."

I chuckled. "There is so much truth in that sentence, it's mind-blinding."

"I know," she giggled. "Now, onto that text message . . ." Alice waggled her eyebrows suggestively and handed me my cell phone.

I sighed, though smiling, and read over the text with careful, slightly frightened eyes. With each passing line, my eyes grew wider and wider. By the time I'd finished reading, I was afraid my eyes would be permanently stuck that far open.

"Oh," I cried, thrusting the phone away from me and pushing it into Alice's ribs, my eyes falling shut. "Oh, ew! Alice! Honestly!"

All I could hear were her breathless laughs, but with the message's lewd words imprinted behind my squeezed-shut eyes, I couldn't bring myself to even smile in response.

"That is _very_ naughty! And my mother would _not_ approve!"

*

if you liked this chapter, let me know! thanks to everyone for reading, and have a fantastic weekend/week, depending on where you live.


	3. The Bookshelves

you guys are MAGNIFICENT. oh my goodness, 69 for reviews for two chapters? you have no idea how happy i am right now. the support for this fic has been phenomenal – way better than i thought it'd be – and i am so grateful for all of you.

that being said, i hope you like this chapter. it's longer than usual – around 6k words, whereas my last two chapters have been more like 5k – and you'll get to meet a few new characters. ;) i'm . . . okay with this chapter. it's not my favorite, and there are a couple parts that i couldn't seem to get a grasp on and make better, so it's as good as i could make it.

oh, also, books and nooks is not a real shop – well, as far as i'm aware. it is, on the other hand, based off of a local bookstore/cafe that i really love hanging out at. so, there you go – based off a true place, haha.

i hope you all had great holidays, and i wish you the best new year!

disclaimer: i don't own ANY of this, except for the plot. i especially don't own _water for elephants_. well, i mean, i do own a copy, but not the rights or anything. just saying.

now – enjoy!

*

**sunday, october 19th.**

The stacks of boxes lying haphazardly across the floor of my bedroom sent a wave of emotions through my body. Part of me was thrilled—the excitement of leaving filled my lungs and provoked all of my cells. It made me breathless to contemplate the idea of going somewhere new, even if it was to permanently reside at an apartment that I'd visited so often, I knew its intricate hallways and hidden doorways. _New_ness always brought about such a rush of intrigue—what would come about of change? Would it be for better, or for worse? No one could tell; no one could know. It was a mysterious and fascinating thing: change.

And so many things were changing at once in my life, my eyes seemed to be catching things in a blur, and my heart pounded restlessly with the adventure of it all. I had a brand new home, sharing an apartment with Alice. I'd gratefully attained a newer, higher level of optimism. And now, I was in the midst of a new career. Well, _hopefully_. The possibility of a job depended on where the job openings in the city were located, and what I would be required to do within that occupation. But Alice assured me that the outlook was good, given the fact that a boatload of people left the city during the winter to go on vacations to much warmer locations.

Lastly—but certainly not least—a new phone buddy. And not even a _new_ phone buddy at that—just a regular phone buddy. My first phone buddy ever.

Maybe it was pathetic that I smiled every time the word "buddy" ran through my head. And maybe it was pathetic that I flushed whenever the memory of his voice floated to the forefront of my attention. But more importantly, I was happy, and if that happiness was thanks to this mysterious stranger, then I would be eternally grateful to him . . . whoever _he_ may be.

––

I heaved the final box into Alice's apartment's living room, dropping it onto the floor and brushing back my hair from my forehead. It was damp with sweat. I wiped my palms on the thighs of my jeans. Even though it was already cold in New York, carrying several full and bursting packages from the taxi cab's trunk, up God knows how many flights of stairs, and into Alice's apartment brought the blush to my cheeks and the perspiration to my pores.

I was smart when I decided not to wear a jacket in and merely bring it along, I thought as I fanned my face, trying to cool myself down.

Alice, the sprite little thing that she is, bounded into the living room behind me, set a box on the carpet-covered hardwood floor, and grinned at me. I could see no sweat anywhere on her face, even though she carted around just as many boxes as me. My lips pursed and my eyes were envious as they narrowed at her.

"That's the last of them!" she cheered. I shared a slippery—on my part—high-five with her.

I huffed for breath and wiped the back of my hand across my forehead. "If I was able to," I said, panting, "I'd tell you . . . how jealous I am of . . . your endurance. I just . . . can't find enough breath to . . . speak my mind."

Her head tipped back as she giggled. "Poor Bella," she said in a motherly tone as she rubbed my back.

I gulped in one last breath of air and placed my hands on my hips. "So . . . ready to help . . . me move my things . . . in?"

"Sure! Let's start with the clothes!"

"Of course we'll start with . . . the clothes," I teased breathlessly. "It's just who you . . . are."

We picked up the boxes that I'd labeled "Clothes/Bedroom" with a permanent marker and carried the back to the guest room. Two opposite walls of the room were a bright, if not bold, blue, and the other two were striped—white and lime green. I gaped at the simplicity and sheer _Alice_-ness of the room. It was beautiful.

I emptied out the contents of the boxes on my new bed, and Alice and I got started on the tops.

Alice picked up a tee and shook it to remove the folding lines. "So, how's M-and-M?"

I hung up the shirt and walked back to the bed, squinting at her. "Who?"

"You know, Mystery Man," she answered nonchalantly.

My forehead wrinkled as I thought. _Mystery Man . . . that could become MM . . . and then M-and-M. Oh. _Oh. _Oh dear god._ "You . . . you gave him a _nickname_?" My words caught in my throat as my brain processed the horrifying—and slightly amusing—realization.

She shrugged as she slipped one of my tops onto a hanger and placed it in the closet. "Yeah."

"And were you"—I put my hand on my hip—"were you planning on telling me of the creation of this innovative nickname?"

"Of course."

I raised an eyebrow. "When?"

"Oh, you know . . ." Her eyes were glued to the stack of shirts in front of her. "Sometime."

I raised the other eyebrow. "Alice . . ."

"Sometime soon."

"_Alice_ . . ."

She bit her lip.

"Alice!" I yelled with an irrepressible grin. "Honestly! What kind of nickname _is_ that? _M-and-M_? Seriously?"

Her shoulders started shaking in silent laughter as she grabbed another shirt. "It makes sense," she pointed out in between spurts of giggles.

"Yes," I agreed, laughing as well. "It _also_ makes him sound like a type of candy you hand out on Halloween."

She cackled and paused her movements, a blouse in one hand and a hanger in the other, and finally glanced at me. Her eyes glinting suggestively and my mind prepared itself for the onslaught of lewd, albeit humorous, remarks. Of course, Alice didn't fail to match my expectations. "I wish _I_ got him for Halloween when _I_ was a kid. I bet he'd be super delicious as a candy. Or not even as a candy; just as a regular, muscular, soft-skin human being."

I groaned, but the smile couldn't be kept off my face. "You will be forever immature when it comes to men, won't you?"

"What's life without a little frivolity?" She blew a kiss at me and resumed helping to put away my clothes.

I chuckled and took a shirt from the top of the pile. "Normal," I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. She snickered and slapped my arm with the plastic hanger. I graciously took that as my punishment for attempting to beat the humor right out of life itself.

*

Once we were finished hanging up my clothes, I took a few minutes to arrange some of my things in her spare room. I placed my music speakers on the nightstand and set my iPod beside them. I stood my mini-bookcase against the wall and filled it with the books I'd brought, organizing them by the authors' last names. After I finished laying my blankets on the bed and switching the bed pillow for my own that I brought, I walked out to the dining room and took a seat across from Alice.

She was already prepared: a highlighter in one hand, a pen in the other, and the classifieds page of the paper spread about before her.

She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. "Let's do this," she muttered fiercely, her fingers tightening around the weapons of mass destruction she was holding.

I laughed and leaned forward onto my elbows. "Alice, don't work yourself up so much." I plucked the highlighter and pen from her hands and uncapped them. "It's just a little job-hunting."

"You asked me to help you find a new job," she retorted, jabbing a finger toward me. "If you want me to help you, then you need to accept _all_ that comes with that."

I raised my eyebrows. "By _all_, you mean your intensity toward victory, am I correct?"

"Yes, you are correct," she said as she interlaced her fingers.

I exhaled. "Okay. Now that we have that out of our way—let's begin."

For the next hour, we read and reread and rereread the classifieds section of the newspaper. I would read aloud each and every job opening, the description and location, and Alice would give me her opinion on the job. If we both liked it and agreed it was worth a visit to the place of employment, I highlighted the advertisement. If I specifically liked a certain ad, I would circle the title and place a star next to the description. Whichever jobs were highlighted _and_ starred, I would visit before the day was over.

*

"'Opening for secretary. Skills with people and computers necessary. Call'—"

"You're good with people, but not with technology."

"What?"

"Bella, you're lucky you can use an iPod and manage a cell phone."

"Oh, thanks so much."

"I'm merely speaking the truth. Next one."

"Fine. 'Needed: Waitress, chef, and/or maître d'. Qualities: friendly, neat, good under pressure. If interested, please call the number below.'"

"I like it. You're friendly; you're neat . . . well, for the most part—"

"Please tell me: when did this turn into 'Let's Insult Bella Day'?"

"All in good fun, I promise!"

"Sure."

"_And_, you're good under pressure. Plus, you have past experience as a waitress. What do you think?"

"I agree. Highlight?"

"Go on with your bad self."

". . . Okay. Next one. 'Looking for library stocker. In need of someone who is good with names and can spend a large amount of time on their knees. Call our number.'"

". . ."

". . ."

"There are so many lewd phrases in that sentence that I could possibly embellish upon, it's amazing."

"I know."

"But I won't."

"_Thank you_."

"Anytime, Bella."

"Just keep in mind that these people only have a certain amount of space that they are able to fill. Every word costs so much to print. It's insane. Therefore, they need to keep their descriptions short and to the point."

"I can tell. And they are extremely successful in that way: my head is wrapped fully around their point."

"_Alice!_ You said you wouldn't!"

"Sorry—I couldn't resist. And anyway, you set yourself up for it!"

"That's always your excuse."

". . ."

"And now you're not denying it, because you know I'm right. So—moving on . . . highlight. Yes?"

"Books have always been your forte. Highlight away, my dear."

"Good. Here's the next one. 'Dog Groomer Needed. Must be good with dogs and'—"

"Next."

"What? Alice, you didn't even let me finish the summary!"

"Trust me, darling. The job is not for you. You and animals are not cohesive beings."

"The last time I trusted you, I ended up with a dog's tongue in my mouth because you told me that a dog's mouth is a lot cleaner than a human's mouth, and that a dog's tongue was probably a good cleanser for the teeth and gums."

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

"Like I said, you and animals—not cohesive."

*

By the end of our highlighting excursion, I'd colored nine job openings, and starred three. The three that I wanted to visit today were: a shelf-stocker at _Barnes and Noble_, a cashier at _Target_, or a general employee at a store I'd never heard of before called _Books and Nooks_.

"Well," I said, standing up from the table, "I think I'll go to _Books and Nooks_ first. It sounds the most interesting."

"Okay." Alice smiled. "I'll be here. When you get back—a frozen pizza and a movie of your choice?"

"Sounds like a plan." I grabbed my jacket off the coat hanger by the door and shrugged into it. "I shouldn't be out longer than three hours or so. I've got my cell with me, in case I'll be any longer."

Nodding, she opened the door and said, "Alright. Off you go! Have fun, be good, make friends, and . . . flirt persistently." With a wink and a push, I was out the door.

According to the location that was given at the bottom of the advertisement, _Books and Nooks_ was only a couple blocks away—nine, ten, maybe eleven tops. I didn't need to call a cab—the walk would be quick. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket and shivered. The chilly autumn air seeped into the thin cloth, and its lack of a hood had my hair blowing in the breeze. I had to remember to buy a new jacket soon.

I grinned when I saw my favorite smoothie stand coming up—I hadn't realized this would be on the trip! Hurrying my pace, I skipped to the stand.

Graham, the usual server, looked down at me and smiled. His eyes squinted and were lost beneath his bushy, grey eyebrows. "Hey there, Bells," he greeted.

"Hi, Graham." I looked up at him. "How's business?"

He shrugged. "Good. Though none of my customers are as great as you," he said, pinching my cheeks.

"Oh, Graham," I laughed as I batted his hand away.

He chuckled. "So, what'll it be? The usual? You know, we've added a couple new flavors since your last visit."

"Okay." I smiled. "Thanks. Give me a sec." I glanced up at the menu. So many good choices . . . my mouth watered as I eyed the flavors. My choice was a tie between Strawberry Restriction and Green Apple Greatness. I sighed internally—this was going to be one extremely difficult decision.

And then, just like that, the answer popped into my head. I grinned.

I dug into the jeans of my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. Scrolling through my recent calls, I finally reached the one that I wanted. I contemplated taking a moment to add him to my contacts as "M&M"—but my smoothie was waiting, and I didn't want to give Alice the satisfaction of using her nickname. Yet. I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear, turning away from the smoothie stand just a bit to gain some privacy.

_Ring . . . ring . . . ri—_

"Hello?" His deep voice sent a thrill of comfort up the length of my spine.

I smiled. "Hi."

"Well, hello there," he drawled, and I laughed.

Tugging my lip between my teeth, I said slowly, "I have a dilemma."

He cleared his throat. "What can I—oh, what was it?—ah, that's right—what _favors_ can I fulfill today?"

Warmth surged through the pit of my stomach. He'd remembered our phrase.

"I need assistance in the purchasing of a smoothie," I said seriously.

He chuckled. "Sounds like a toughie. What are the choices?"

"Strawberry Restriction and Green Apple Greatness."

"Hmm," he hummed. "That is actually an incredibly tough decision."

"I know!" I laughed.

His laughter matched mine. "But . . . if I had to choose . . . I'd go with Strawberry Restriction. The sweetness of the fruit will be perfect in quelling the feel of the vicious wind."

"You didn't tell me your name was Walt Whitman," I teased. His laughter on the other ending was booming. "That sounds like it should be in a poem or something," I said, one side of my mouth tipped up and one eyebrow raised.

". . . Thank you," he breathed. My eyes closed at the sound of his voice.

". . . That was all I called you for, really," I said softly.

"Okay."

"So, thank you for helping me make my decision."

I could almost _hear_ him smile. "Glad to be of service."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, miss."

_Click_.

I turned back to Graham and the smoothie stand. Graham was watching me with curious, narrowed eyes, and the biggest grin on his face. I decided to ignore that.

"One Strawberry Restriction smoothie, please. Medium—like usual." I also chose to ignore the fact that my voice was tight and rough.

Under his lips, he ran his tongue over his teeth. "Coming right up."

Fourteen minutes later, I was equipped with my Strawberry Restriction Smoothie and standing in front of _Books and Nooks_. It was a small shop, maybe three door-widths wide. Behind the glass windows, I could spot a front counter, several tables, and row upon row upon row of books. _This already seems like the coolest little café-slash-bookstore._ I opened the door and stepped inside.

The line of people waiting at the front counter was long, and I could see why—sitting on the counter were plates and containers overflowing with all kinds of cookies, muffins, and bagels. Behind the counter were inhumanly large jars of teas and coffees; there had to be fifty jars of different drink mixtures.

The hardwood floor and worn-in tables gave the café section a nice homey feel, and I was instantly warm and familiar inside the shop. I walked past the tables, glimpsing at the customers—all laid back, with comfortable sweaters and a laptop or book on the table—and made my way back the center aisle.

It was the most unique bookstore I'd ever been in. Shelves of books lined the walls on either side of me, and then there were shelves that came out perpendicularly, creating little sections of space, one side open and the other three bookshelves. I passed by cubicle after cubicle—the shop was thin, but seemed to extend forever—and saw that there were tables in each little space, with chairs surrounding them. Most of them were occupied with two or three people, sitting together and laughing with each other over mugs of steaming coffee. I smiled at the sights.

As I walked back toward the front, I marveled at the creativity of it all. The little nooks looked so inviting. _Oh,_ I thought suddenly, _now I understand. A shop filled with books and nooks. No wonder the name of the store_ . . .

I moseyed around the quaint little café, my eyes following the spines of books and my head tilting to the side as I nodded appreciatively at their titles. I was waiting for the line at the front counter to shorten, and with a quick glance to the register, I could see that there were still a few more people standing there. I turned back to the shelves upon shelves of worn-in books. A smile appeared on my face as I caught sight of a particular favorite—_Water for Elephants_—and my finger ran fondly along its title. The binding was a little torn, and I could see droplets of water damage at the top of the spine; my smile grew. Someone really loved this book.

"That was mine," I heard a deep voice murmur from my left. It startled me, and my head whipped to the side, my eyes searching out the stranger. What I found left me—to my extreme embarrassment—_breathless_.

Bright copper hair was the first thing that caught my attention. It was a deep red, not quite as vibrant as a red apple, but more resembling the dying embers of a fire—burnt crimson with a short-lived glow of orange. The hair was wavy and looked soft to the touch. It was enthralling.

My eyes traveled down his face, pausing at the strong jaw line and the full, pink lips. With a sweeping glance, I took note of his nose—smooth, subtly ski-slope—and his defined cheekbones. My eyes lingered there on the pale apples of his cheeks. They were lovely. Not sallow, really. But sharp. I couldn't help but notice how well they went with his distinct jaw.

And then, I couldn't resist it any longer, and my eyes finally rested upon his eyes: piercing green. The kind of green that grows from a well-watered lawn, or the color of a lit-up Christmas tree just before sunset, when the sun is shining its last light through the window and decorates its needles in its vivid intensity. A shade of emerald so magnetic that it was difficult to tear my eyes away from his.

When I was able to look away from the gravitational pull of his eyes, I could see that he was smiling at me. One side of his lips was pulled up, twisting upward with a combination of amusement and curiosity.

I racked my brain for what he'd said to me. "Oh?" I replied. My smile was shaky.

He grinned; his teeth were perfectly white and straight. I marveled quickly at them. "Yes. I used to own it, but then I realized something."

"And what would that be?" I raised an eyebrow and took a sip of my smoothie.

He smiled softly. "Did you know that here you can donate novels and, in exchange, receive store credit?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "This is my first time in here, actually."

He chuckled. "A _Books and Nooks_ virgin? This must be my lucky day."

Flushing dramatically, I ducked my head. "You sure know how to make a woman uncomfortable," I muttered.

"Well—clearly. That's a lovely blush you're sporting."

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

He cleared his throat and tucked a hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I was going somewhere with that, I promise."

I peered at him. "Uh-huh."

"Honest!" he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders.

I gnawed on my lower lip as I took the rest of him in. He was clad in a blue button-up sweater, loose enough to keep his modesty intact, but form-fitting enough to accentuate his toned stature. Faded dark blue jeans were slim against his long legs (he had to be at least nine inches taller than me). They were held up around his waist by a simple black belt. His sneakers were a tad dressy, a touch above casual, much like the rest of his ensemble.

I took a moment to gawk. "Proceed," I said slowly.

He laughed throatily. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to offend you any more than I already have." His voice was sincere, but his lips twitched with mirth. I narrowed my eyes at them and tried not to pay too much attention to their curves and plumpness.

"Just keep your crude comments to yourself and we'll be just fine," I retorted.

"Crude?" He chuckled, his eyes glimmering. "That's stretching it a bit, don't you think? I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm _crude_ . . ."

"People who are crude usually don't recognize the fact that they are, in fact, crude."

"People who are passive-aggressive usually don't recognize their passive-aggressiveness, either."

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "You seemed to know me incredibly well."

"I'm good at reading people," he explained with a cheeky grin.

"We'll see about that."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Now, may I continue?"

"You may," I said with an approving nod.

He flashed me a quick smile, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. "_Books and Nooks_ sells only used novels. Customers can bring in books that they've bought beforehand, that are still in relatively good shape, and exchange them for store credit."

"Meaning . . ."

"Meaning that, for every book you bring in, you get whatever amount of money, and that money goes toward purchasing from the café."

"Ah, I see. Very unique."

He smiled in agreement and tapped a knuckle to the spine of _Water for Elephants_. "So, I figured I'd bring this in, because I hadn't seen it on their shelves. It was worth a tea and four shortbread cookies. And now," he sighed happily, "I can read it whenever I want."

"As long as you're in the store," I pointed out.

"Yes."

I smiled lightly. "That was a nice bargain."

"Yes," he said, running a hand through his hair. I followed the movement with my eyes. Yes—the hair definitely looked soft. "I thought so, too."

My head gestured toward the novel. "It's a good book, isn't it?"

He nodded ardently. "Yes, absolutely. It's one of my favorites. I guess you like it as well?"

"You guess right."

He grinned, and my breath hitched.

"Like I said," he whispered as he leaned in closer to me, "I'm good at reading people."

I raised my eyebrows, trying desperately to stop the blush from coloring my face, and failing miserably. "You also seem to be pretty cocky," I replied as I took a step back, my foot stumbling into the chair behind me. He matched my step, and I stared suspiciously at him.

He scratched the nape of his neck, and I thought I could see the faintest flush on his cheeks. "I suppose you're right about that, too."

Without warning, a wave of déjà vu washed over me, the pit of my stomach searing with amity. My eyes blinked repetitively as I looked at the man with new eyes. He didn't look familiar—his green eyes weren'te remembered in my mind—but there was something else, in his words and his humor.

"Do I—I mean—this is going to sound weird, but—are you—do I . . . know you?" I said lamely.

His forehead wrinkled and his verdant eyes burned brilliantly into mine. "I . . . I don't think so. I don't believe I recognize you. And surely, I wouldn't forget a face like yours."

The sheer honesty in his voice made my eyes drop to the floor and blush spread across my cheeks. "For some reason," I said slowly, my eyes leisurely moving back up to his, "you seem really familiar to me."

He pursed his lips. "I know what you mean," he said. His eyes brightened. "You seem familiar to me, as well. What's your name, miss?"

My flush furthered at his courteous behavior. "I'm Bella Swan. And you are . . . ?"

"Edward Cullen," he finished with a grin. It was a contagious grin, and I had to smile in return.

My head tilted to the side. "Your name isn't familiar, Mr. Cullen," I teased. "I don't think we attended school together. I went to an elementary school—and high school as well—in Forks, Washington?"

He shook his head. "I was raised in Chicago my entire life."

"Oh," I said, my heart plummeting. "That's strange. You seem so . . . familiar."

"It's strange indeed," he said with a nod and a glance to the clock that hung on the wall. He raised his hand toward me. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Bella Swan." My name was pleasant on his tongue.

I switched my smoothie from my right hand to my left and placed my hand in his. My pulse raced dangerously at the contact. His skin smooth and warm. But rather than shaking my hand, like I expected him to, he raised my hand to his face and pressed his soft, full lips to the back of my hand. They lingered there for a moment, and I could feel his balmy breath on my skin. I flushed deeply.

"Unfortunately, though," he said quietly as he raised his head from my hand and his eyes met mine once more, "I have to go."

"Okay," I said shakily. He smiled knowingly at me, as though his fingers could feel the quick pulse that flew through my palm. I wouldn't be surprised if they actually could. He slid his hand from mine, dropping finger by finger, until he was holding onto only my index finger. He kept it in his grasp for several seconds, and my face flamed. It was like he was transferring all of his body heat, through my finger, and directly to my face. When he let that go, my arm fell limply by my side.

His smile widened, enhanced by thoughtful eyes. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime soon."

"Hopefully," I blurted, and then slapped a hand over my mouth in shock.

His head tilted back as he laughed. "I'll be looking forward to it," he said. "Goodbye, Miss Swan."

I bit my lip, my face burning brilliantly. "See you later, Cullenator."

With one last loud laugh, and a sweeping glance at my face, Edward Cullen and his emerald eyes turned around, and he walked lithely out of the café. I followed his fiery head of hair until I could see it no longer.

I let out a deep breath; my cheeks were still flushed, and I noticed that my fingers were trembling. I pressed my shaking palm to my cheek and instantly felt the heat emanating from my face. Jeez . . . what was this man doing to me?

I tried not to let the memory of his piercing green eyes enter my mind as I walked toward the front counter, which now held no customers. Standing behind the register was a man who looked my age, perhaps a few years older. His noticeably tan face was adorned with a messy mop of blond locks, and ice blue eyes were deep-set. I could see his toned forearms—his white wife-beater gave my eyes great access to his prominent collarbones and lean shoulders.

He caught me looking and smirked. "Hey, babe," he greeted with a grin.

I paused in my tracks, taken aback by his forwardness. "Excuse me?" I asked.

Chuckling, he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, and the rainbow flag earring, strong and boldly colored against his ear lobe, caught my notice. I smiled in recognition and let out a sigh of relief. "Don't worry your pretty little head—I've already got a lover." He winked. "And I'm not looking for another. I'm just not that kind of guy, sweetie."

I laughed and stepped forward, resting my hands on the counter. "That's good, because I'm pretty sure you're not my type."

"_Ouch_," he joked, pursing his lips. He touched his finger to my arm and made a "_sssss_" noise, hissing between his teeth. "You're pretty hot when you're brutal."

I snickered and blushed. "Actually, I'm pretty hot all the time," I faux-corrected.

He laughed grandly and leaned forward onto the counter, resting his weight on his elbows. "I like you. A lot. You're different than the usual pretty customer. And trust me, you're pretty."

"Thanks," I mumbled awkwardly. "Should that mean a lot, coming from you?"

All of his blindingly white teeth gleamed as he grinned. "Yes."

"Okay. Good." I smiled at him.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"I saw your guys' ad for hiring in the paper, and I wanted to apply. I came to check out the place."

He nodded. "And what's your reaction so far? Positive, I hope?"

"Oh, yes. I really like the feel of it," I said. "It's like . . . a second home."

"Yeah, that's what draws a lot of people in here—the familiarity of it. It's a hell of a lot more informal than a _Barnes and Noble_ or a _Borders_, you know?"

"Exactly," I said. "That's exactly it. Plus, if all the employees are as friendly as you are, then I'd love to work here."

He nodded and then slowly narrowed his eyes at me, a grin growing on his face. "Is there . . . _another_ reason that you've decided to apply for the job, now that you've come and visited?"

"Other than the atmosphere, and you being very nice, I . . . um . . . no?" I peered at him curiously.

He shrugged. "I thought maybe you'd remember the other reason. I'll give you a refresher, just in case you might've forgotten. You know, maybe a certain young, dashing, intriguing, fantastical, magnificent, gloriously _gorgeous_ male with striking red hair and lovely green eyes that happened to have kissed your hand—a _five second long_ kiss on the hand, mind you—who just left this store no more than two minutes ago?"

I gaped at him, speechless.

"I thought so," he said happily. "I can spot a future marriage from a mile away, and you two are most definitely one of them."

"I . . . uh . . . well . . ."

". . ."

"Does he come in here often?" I asked weakly, trying to change the subject.

He flicked a crumb off the counter and ran his palm over the smooth glass. "Oh yeah, he's a regular. In here almost every day. He always gets the same stuff, too: an iced Indian chai latte and two packs of shortbread cookies."

"Good taste."

"Yeah, our chai is like ridiculously amazing, so I'll have to agree with you there." He waggled his eyebrows, and I laughed behind my hand. "So, you say that you want to apply for our open position?"

I nodded. "Of course. Assuming that it's still open?"

"You assume right. Now, whoever fills the spot has to be able to make the drinks and food, handle the register, sell novels, and stock the shelves—it's a multi-job. Are you up for it?"

"If you're up for handling me," I said enthusiastically.

He grinned. "That I am. Great! Here—I'll give you this application," he said as he dug under the counter. When he came back up, he handed me several forms that were stapled together. "Fill this out and bring it back when you're finished; also, bring along your résumé. If I like what I see, then I'll make an appointment with you and myself, and from there I'll decide if you'll get the position."

I stared at him, puzzled. "_You'll_ decide?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," he said, leaning forward. "I'm the manager of _Books and Nooks_. The name's Ian—no," he said as I glanced toward his chest, "we don't wear nametags around here. Or uniforms, for that matter. We're trying to keep the place casual."

"_Aha_ . . . it all makes sense now. You being manager, keeping it casual, not wearing a nametag . . . all of the questions I was going to ask have now been answered."

He chuckled loudly. "You get it! Fantastic! Like I said, though, I'm Ian. If you end up working here, just call me Ian."

I snorted. "Okay, _Ian_. That sounds like a good name to call you, since, you know, that's the only name of yours that I know." He chuckled silently. "Or maybe I'll just call you Mr. Devilishly Handsome."

He took a break from his breathless laughter to grin largely. "I like it," he murmured.

Snickering, I said, "I'm Bella."

"Pretty name," he complimented. I blushed lightly. "Maybe I'll just call you Mrs. Suck-Up. Anyway, I'm the head honcho around here, _so_, bring back the forms and your résumé, and then I'll decide what to do next, depending on your skills and past experience and all that junk. Sound good, babe?"

I smiled widely. "Yep. Thank you so much!

"No prob. You have a good rest of the day."

"Thanks," I said thoughtfully.

"_And_," he whispered quietly, and I leaned over the counter so I could hear him, "even if you don't get the job—and I'm pretty sure you will, because, like I said, I like you—I have the strongest feeling that you'll become a regular for _other_ reasons." He cast his eyes pointedly over to the bookshelf that displayed _Water for Elephants_, and then he smiled cheekily at me.

My face burned crimson.

He laughed. "Now, on your way you go!"

I smiled. "Okay. See you," I said as I took the forms from his hand into my free hand and began walking toward the exit.

"You go girl!" he shouted, snapping his fingers in a _Z_ formation and then blowing me a kiss. I saw several customers in the store glance in my direction, and my cheeks flushed deeper as I ducked my head and opened the door. Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, I spared Ian a quick wave through the window—and then made a speedy getaway before he could make my face become permanently red.

_Books and Nooks_ was such a success, I didn't even bother visiting any of the other jobs I'd starred. I walked home, a smoothie in hand, a smile on my face.

*

if you liked it, let me know in a review or pm! thanks so much for reading.


	4. The Halloween Dance

hey guys, i'm back with a new chapter. hope you guys like it! i might've had it out sooner, but this week has been a bastard. having no homework over christmas break must be equivalent to "hey, let's give the kids as much homework as possible when they get back!" to my teachers. blegh. anyway, here i am.

uh . . . so . . . i pretty much love you guys. 92 reviews for the third chapter alone? you all are the best. thanks for loving my craziness of a story, haha. you guys = my new loves. just thought i'd let you know. (oh, and to all of my anonymous reviewers—i read all of your reviews as well, and i appreciate them just as much!)

haha and oh my gosh, you know what else i love? the fact that, last chapter, when i had bella buy the smoothie, i completely forgot that she had it in her hand for the rest of the chapter. and you guys totally called me out on it in the reviews! talk about consistency being a nuisance, eh? anyways, i want to thank those of you who pointed that out to me, and i've gone back and made a few edits that show how she still has it in her hand. as for the dashing ~edward cullen~ recognizing it, he wouldn't, simply because it's in a plain white styrofoam cup with no text on the outside. a normal, everyday cup—oh, and it has a lid, so he couldn't tell what was inside. so, yeah. thanks again to you guys, especially you observant people. yeah, you—i see you in the back, there. mhm. thanks, _you_.

a few of you have asked about the length of this story, and as of right now, i'd probably estimate for it to be around 10-15 chapters. maybe more, maybe less. it's difficult for me to tell right now, because i don't have the entire plot worked out yet. so it's a mystery, as of right now. hehehe.

disclaimer: stephenie meyer owns these characters, and other recognizable people/things are owned by other people. the only thing i've got is the plot. i promise.

(sorry for this insanely long author's note!)

read on, and enjoy!

*

**friday, october 31st.**

Another pin pricked my hip, and I sighed heavily.

"Alice, do you _want_ blood on this costume?"

I saw and heard her gasp, the mirror's reflection of her eyes growing wide as they stayed fixated on the cloth she was toying with. "Of course not! That would be just terrible, I mean, crimson doesn't even go with the color scheme . . ."

"One more pin poking my skin," I warned, "and I promise there will be."

She nodded enthusiastically and resumed her work. I watched her meticulous fingers, half of me in awe and the other half anticipating the next stab of her weapon. It was my personal belief that she was taking this Halloween costume entirely too serious, but I just didn't have it in me to resist her excited advances. According to her, she'd been looking forward to this massive Halloween party for the past three months, sketching out our costumes and purchasing the best fabric. She'd put so much into this, I wanted her to get just as much out of it.

So I let her continue, the jab of the pin just hairs away from my skin.

"You are going to be the most colorful person there," she said happily, a tiny grin on her face as she plucked a needle from the red pin cushion that lay next to her kneeling form.

I stared at myself in the mirror, blinded by the neon colors. "I don't doubt it," I replied. "Perhaps we should pick up a couple hundred pairs of sunglasses and take them along, because God knows everyone else there will need to wear them in order to glance in my direction."

She snickered. "Something got your panties in a twist?"

"Standing on this platform for the past two hours hasn't exactly been a cakewalk, you know."

"You will wear what I design for you and you will like it," she retorted.

I raised an eyebrow at her in the mirror. "Someone must've taken their feisty pill this morning."

Giggling, she stared at me condescendingly. "Bella, babe, you should have this memorized by now—I take those pills _every_ day. Just a fact of life for me."

I slapped my forehead in mock embarrassment. "Oh, of course! How could I have forgotten? You need your daily dose, because, without it, you'd be unable to force me to do things that I don't really want to do. _Right_."

I felt another prick.

"Alice! What was _that_? What did I say about pins pri—"

"That wasn't a pin, silly," she said smugly into the mirror. "It was a needle."

I huffed. "And a double dose of those mischievous tablets, I see."

She snorted and kept up with the finishing touches of my outfit.

"Knock knock," a deep voice called from behind me. "Can I come in?"

"Sure thing, Jasper," I said, and, in the mirror, I saw Jasper open the door. He met my gaze and smiled at me.

I snorted. "Or, should I say, _Ken_."

He narrowed his eyes at me through his square, black-framed imitation glasses. His small mile morphed into a full-blown grin and his eyebrows raised upward into his gelled blond hair when he saw the costume that I was wearing. I bit my lip to hold in a sigh. Scrutiny was generally unbearable when it was being placed upon me.

"How are you ladies doing in here?" he asked us, the southern twang ubiquitous in his voice.

"Great," Alice chimed at the same time that I droned, "Oh, just dandy." We all glanced at each other then, and the three of us laughed in harmony.

"Well, I see that you two are just finishing up, so I'll excuse myself to the dining room." He readjusted the collar of his bright pink argyle sweater, looking somewhat uncomfortable, but keeping up the façade of delight for Alice's benefit. My hand flew up to my mouth to cover my fit of quiet laughter, and Jasper shot me a faux-death-glare in the mirror.

Alice, oblivious to the vicious stare-down that Jasper and I were currently participating in, put a final stitch in my shorts and jumped up from the floor. "Done!" she cheered.

I flopped onto the carpet and let out a huge breath. "Thank goodness," I muttered as I rubbed my eyes.

"Pessimism gets you nowhere," she sang, and I heard the soft patters on the carpet as Alice skipped to Jasper. "Why hello there, my dashing Barbie Ken," she murmured, her voice low and persuasive. I squinted one eye open to find her tracing the argyle pattern with a pinkie finger.

Jasper's cheeks grew pink and he smiled warmly at her. "You look quite breathtaking yourself, Malibu," he replied softly, taking her hand in his and pressing his lips to her pinkie. She giggled quietly and sighed. I was scrutinizing her costume—a floral print bikini bathing suit and a sheer, see-through cover-over—when she snapped her fingers twice in my direction, her eyes still on Jasper's.

"Yes, master?"

"Don't lay down. You'll mess up your really cute ponytail."

"But I—"

"No excuses. Up."

I groaned and lifted myself off the floor, trying to ignore the sore aches in my thighs from standing for so long.

"Are we ready to go yet?" I asked.

Alice nodded and clapped. "Yes! Let's go. We're running perfectly on schedule."

"Because it would be such a travesty to miss this little shindig," I mumbled under my breath.

I felt a finger flick my forearm, and I sighed heavily.

"I mean," I tried again, wearing an overly-exaggerated smile and speaking in a high-pitched voice, "oh my god! Yay! Like, I'm so excited! Let's go!"

Alice grinned at me. "That's the spirit!"

*

The Halloween party was being held at what must have been a mansion. The only word that ran through my head was "_huge_" as Alice, Jasper, and I stepped out of our cab and walked into the building. It had to be three stories high, at least . . . if not more. I could only gape in awe at its fine marble finish as we walked into the lobby. Romanesque columns lined the path to the main ballroom, and small groups of partygoers were scattered inside the foyer; huddled around columns. Several people glanced at the three of us as we walked by, sporting impressed smiles as they saw our costumes, and I couldn't blame them: we easily could have been the most outrageously colorful people there.

"Bella, isn't this cool?" Alice chattered excitedly. Jasper's arm was wrapped around her waist, and it was difficult to not smile at them together—they complemented each other wonderfully.

I nodded. "This place is stunning," I breathed. Jasper let go of Alice and stepped in front of us to open the ballroom's doors, and we all took one step in.

Now _this_ was a dance.

Music flowed from the ballroom out through the doors, so loud that it made me vibrate. It was a techno song, and it was strangely enticing. I felt the sudden compelling to dance; it was intoxicating.

The huge room was dark, but spotlights shined around the room, orbs of orange and yellow quickly flitting from person to person. Small-lit candles—orange and yellow, of course, staying in the Halloween theme—decorated the edges of the room, and sat on the snacks table. The ambiance was warm and inviting, a strong contrast to the loud and nearly obnoxious music.

A small hand tugged on mine, and the three of us were catapulted into the swarm of dancing bodies.

We danced together to a few songs, trying some crazy dance moves and laughing with each other at our silliness. Being crowded by everyone else, always brushing against another person's body, knowing that the sweat on my body was probably not just my own sweat . . . it was infectious, and I loved the feeling of impermeable bliss.

At one point, I caught sight of a familiar thick-muscled man, dressed up as The Rock, dancing with a woman dressed as Clémence Poésy. I nudged Alice and Jasper and pointed to the two of them.

"Is that Emmett?!" I asked, grinning in excitement.

Jasper squinted into the semi-black room. "I think so . . ."

Alice squealed. "Yes! Aw, and that's his girlfriend, Rosalie."

"He has a girlfriend?" I looked at Alice, shocked. "How has he never told me this?"

She shrugged. "It's relatively recent. Don't worry about it, Bella." I glanced back to the two of them. "Just look how cute they are."

"They _are_ beautiful together," I said, silently envying Rosalie's cascading, sun-colored hair.

Alice nodded. "Oh, yes. Hey—I have an idea." She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and opened it up, selecting the camera option in the menu. "Just a little revenge for them not telling us that they were here. Take the picture, Bella—you're taller than I am. You can get a better shot."

Standing on my tiptoes, I scanned over the crowd until I found them, and snapped a picture. I handed the phone back to Alice, and she saved it and slid her phone back into her bag.

"We'll send that little picture to him later, with a really great caption, too," she said, winking at me, and we laughed and resumed dancing.

*

After about six songs, I yelled over the music, "I need some air. I'll be over by the food and drink table. You two enjoy yourselves!"

"Okay," Alice shouted back, and she swung her hands around Jasper's neck and kept moving with the beat.

I swerved my way through the dancing mass of people, repeating, "Sorry," over and over again as I constantly bumped someone with my elbow or stepped on a person's feet, until I finally reached the emptiest corner of the ballroom. I snatched a cookie, shaped like a pumpkin, from a platter and nibbled on it. My eyes continued glancing at the people, the costumes, and the various—and sometimes amusing—forms of dancing.

A Tyra Banks, a clown, a snowman, the ever-classic witch, the Joker from _The Dark Knight_, a band-aid, a deer-in-the-headlights, a Barack Obama, a Sarah Palin, a Christmas tree, an Elvis Presley, a ma—

_Wait_.

I searched out the Elvis Presley again, my eyes tracing along his lean form, his pale complexion, and . . .

My stomach plummeted as my heart flew.

And that head of thick, copper hair.

I'd know that head of hair anywhere.

_Edward Cullen_ was here, across the ballroom dance floor, swaying alongside a Playboy bunny, dressed up as Elvis Presley. And I was currently unable to remove my eyes from him. I was frozen in time and motion.

His eyes snapped to mine from across the floor, and even at this distance, I could see the emerald glow.

It seemed like something out of a big budget movie.

First, he drifted back to the conversation he'd been having with the Playboy bunny. He placed a hand lightly (or perhaps disgustedly) on her elbow—my stomach turned—and she giggled, her too-full glossy lips slimy. Second, gently, he pushed her away from him—my heart soared—and she watched with seething eyes as he told her something. Then he turned toward me. Third, his eyes locked with mine—my pulse raced—and he glided toward me, easily making his way through the crowded and sweating bodies, music pulsing in the background and orange balloons floating through the air.

I could only watch in wonder.

In what seemed like a motion too quick, or perhaps too slow, he was at my side. I stared up at him as he smiled down at me. _Was he this tall when I saw him in _Books and Nooks_?_ _Sheesh . . ._

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to sort out my unorganized train of thoughts. "I think you're stalking me," I breathed.

He chuckled lowly, his eyes twinkling. "And if I am, what would you think?" he replied with a grin.

"I . . . I'd say that you need a better social life," I said jokingly.

His eyes dropped from mine and ran slowly along the length of my body, fixated on my lime green Chucks, my silver legwarmers, my hot pink short shorts, my neon-colored geometric shapes crew-cut top, my sideways ponytail, my yellow hair band. I flushed under his intense inspection. Finally his eyes returned to mine, playful and appraising.

"I don't know," he said as he scratched the nape of his neck. My eyes zeroed in on the hint of scruff that shaded his jaw and I was suddenly breathless. "You seem to be exciting enough to keep my social calendar _stocked_."

I laughed. "This ensemble is not my doing, I'll have you know."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Do you really think that I would want to wear something like this, _ever_, even for Halloween?" I deadpanned.

"It's like a flashback from my past," he teased in an awestruck voice. "I remember being shocked when I found pictures from when I was two and three, and I saw my mother wearing the same exact outfit as you're wearing right this moment."

"Oh, hush!" I slapped his chest. It was firm, and I allowed myself a peek at the muscles that were hiding behind his shirt. My face grew red. "Wait, let me get this straight—are you saying that I remind you of your _mother_?"

His eyes, in a fleeting look that I barely caught, glimpsed to my exposed legs, lingering there for a moment, and shot up to my collarbones, then trailed lower . . . They flashed back to mine, and the sheer boyish intent that glazed over his vivid jade eyes made me blush even deeper than before.

"No," he said, and his voice was thick. I bit my lip, hard, at the sound. He cleared his throat, his eyes focused only on me. "No, not exactly."

I decided to return his approaches, and let my eyes follow every detail of his costume, as well. He was decked out in a white tuxedo, sharp and appealing to curious fingers. A sky blue button-down shirt was layered beneath his jacket, and a classic pair of blue suede shoes covered his feet.

Grinning up at him, I said, "Well, look at you. You ain't nothing but a hound dog."

"Thank you, thank you very much," he said, jutting his hips to one side and forming guns with his hands. I clapped my hands and laughed, applauding him my approval, and he chuckled and pouted his lips as he ran a hand through his slick hair.

He slung out the opposite hand. "Do you want to dance, little darlin'?"

"As long as you don't get too jealous of my killer dance moves," I said, placing my hand in his and smiling widely. He winked at me, and with a flick of his wrist, I was twirling away from the concessions table and into the dance floor.

And then he successfully danced his way into my heart.

*

Sore from laughing and panting for breath, Edward and I wormed our way back through the crowd to the table of candy and punch.

"Whew," Edward said breathlessly as he poured a cup of orange punch and handed it to me. I smiled in thanks, and when I moved to take it from him, our fingers brushed. My breath hitched as my eyes darted up to his. He just grinned at me, his eyes alight with excitement.

I gulped and took a swig of punch. "What a workout," I said, referring to our maniacal dancing.

"I know I'll feel it tomorrow morning," he chuckled as he poured himself cup of orange punch.

I snorted and sipped at the punch—it was delicious. "Yes, because you're such an senior citizen," I mocked.

"Hey, early twenties can feel like death sometimes," he said. "I'm sure you know what I mean." He shrugged toward me in a questioning manner and lifted his punch to his lips. He really needed to stop drawing attention to those (pink, full, flawless) lips.

"I don't think I ever told you how old I was," I said, narrowing my eyes at him playfully. "For all you know, I could be sixteen-years-old."

He sputtered into his cup and coughed out a nervous laugh, his wide eyes on mine. "You're . . . you're _not_ sixteen though, right?"

I bit my lip, trembling from keeping in laughter, and shook my head slowly.

"Ah!" He sighed and groaned, his mouth hanging open in relief. "You really shouldn't do that to a man! My heart literally just stopped beating."

"I apologize for your near-death experience," I told him grimly as I patted his arm. "I would've been sure to have attended your funeral, I'll assure you."

He placed a hand over his heart. "That surely would've made up for your killing me. Thank you." We smiled at each other.

A new dance beat started playing at an excruciatingly loud volume over the speakers, and everyone on the dance floor cheered and threw their arms over their heads and started dancing along. I watched all of them in their costumes, bumping and gyrating to the techno music. Half of them probably didn't even know who they were dancing with, but when a person is wearing a mask, they're probably a heck of a lot more likely to be more outgoing. To enhance themselves.

"Hey," I heard Edward yell over the beat, and I turned to look at him. He was watching me curiously.

"Do you want to, um . . ." His words slurred and sounded like gibberish to me.

I cupped a hand over my ear. "What? I'm sorry, I can barely hear you."

"_I said_, do you . . . uh . . . do you think you might want to go to _Books and Nooks_ to chat?" he asked, his eyes careful and unsure.

I nodded as my stomach bubbled with anxiety. "Yes—it's too loud in here to have a decent conversation, anyway." I wiggled the hand that was cupping my ear. "Clearly."

He smiled. "My thinking exactly. Do you have anyone that you need to let know you're leaving?"

"Oh, right!" Was this man really so captivating that I'd completely forgotten about my best friend? "I completely forgot about her." Oh. Apparently so. "Just give me one moment. How about you? Do you need to talk to anyone?"

He nodded. "Yes, I came with my friend and the love of his life. They'll be in this insanity . . . somewhere," he laughed. "Actually, they're probably the most insane dancers here."

"Alright," I said, chuckling. "I'll meet you by the front door?"

"Sounds excellent." His eyes twinkled, and he brushed past me as he walked toward the mass of people behind me. My shoulder tingled at the contact, and I fought to keep my breath. I tossed my empty cup in the trash can, and, spotting Alice in the crowd, I skipped to her side. Jasper saw me before Alice did, and he smiled at me and nudged her side. She turned to face me.

"Hey," I said, "I'm going to head down to _Books and Nooks_ for a bit. It's a bit loud in here." I prayed she'd buy that excuse and not inquire for any more.

Her thin arms interlocked over her chest. "And who will be accompanying you?"

"I . . . uh . . . what . . . how . . . erm . . . what?"

"Bella," she said, "I'm your best friend. I know these things. Plus, you can't fool anyone when you're blushing like crazy."

I touched the back of my hand to my cheek. Sure enough, I was as hot as the sun. "Oh," I said, defeated. "I'm, um, I'm going with someone that I met at _Books and Nooks_ when I went there a week or two ago to scope the place out."

"And you ended up scoping out this man that you're talking about instead, right?"

I rolled my eyes as my face grew redder. "I love you and all, but your way of knowing things truly frightens me sometimes."

"Point taken," she giggled. She looked up at Jasper, and he smiled softly down at her. The sheer love that they shared was being emitted through their eyes, and the moment seemed so personal, I wanted to look away. I felt like an intruder in their little bubble of love.

"Well, Jasper," she said, placing a hand on his chest, "what do you think? Is our baby ready to go out with a man alone?"

I narrowed my eyes at them. "So I'm your child?"

They ignored me. Jasper chuckled as he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her palm. "I think that she is. She _is_ twenty-two-years-old, after all."

Alice's eyes stayed on him for a moment, and then she nodded and turned back to me. "Okay, I suppose we can let you out."

I rolled my eyes and my hands found my hips. "Oh, and _now_ I'm your dog. Fantastic."

"Bella," she chided lightly, "we've been watching over you for a while now. We know you inside and out."

I nodded, still not liking the image of my head on a dog's body as I sat at the feet of Alice and Jasper.

"Before you go, though, I'd like to see this young man."

Turning around, I peered at the doorway to see if Edward was visible. I found him standing in the doorway, resting against the open door. I could barely make him out, the crisp edges of his tuxedo pitch black against the light behind him.

"You can't seem him well," I said, glancing to Alice, "but he's the one leaning against the door, right over there." I pointed in his direction.

She squinted for a moment, and then grinned. "You mean the Elvis?"

I stared at her for a long second, and then shook my head slowly. "You have the eyes of a hawk, I swear . . ."

"But is that him?" she asked excitedly.

I nodded warily, awaiting her reaction.

She stared back at me, a strange combination of confusion and eagerness spread across her features, a wide grin on her lips.

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

"What are you waiting for?" she cried. "Go snatch him up, already!"

"Oh. What? I was waiting for your approval."

"My approval was my grin!"

"Oh. Well, you might want to tell me that next time. I don't really excel in the art of bing able to tell what people are thinking, you know."

"I just said that I know you inside and out. You should know me the same way."

"Oh. I do."

"Apparently not."

I elbowed her in the ribs. "I'm going now."

"Shoo," she said, fluttering her fingers at me. I stared at Jasper, momentarily disapproving of his choice in women, and he smiled largely at me.

I began backing toward the exit. "I should be home in a few hours."

"Your curfew is midnight!" she announced strictly, and then giggled. "I'd make such a great mother," I heard her murmur quietly as she leaned her head on Jasper's upper arm. He was so monstrously tall, the tip-top of her pointy hair couldn't even meet his shoulder.

"Yes, you would," he whispered, ducking down and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

It was another personal moment of theirs, and again, I felt as though I was some stranger looking inward on their lives. So I left. I spared one final smile in their direction—though I doubted that they'd catch it—and met Edward at the doorway.

The closer I got to him, the clearer he became. The stunning copper of his hair, the soft curves of his lips, and his green eyes—of course, his eyes. He smiled down at me when I reached him and lifted his arm toward me.

"Are you ready to be escorted from this insanity, Paula Abdul?"

I chuckled. "Only if you're ready to be taken away, King of Rock."

A crooked smile spread across his face, and I silently gawked at the perfection. Once I hooked my arm through his, he softly pulled me out of the doorway, into the marbled hallway, and out into the chilly autumn air.

*

"Favorite animal?" Edward asked into a sip of chai.

I finished chewing my bite of biscotti. "Domesticated or not?"

He shrugged with a smile. "Both."

"Hmm . . . domesticated—dog. Probably a golden retriever, to be more specific. They're just so kind and lovable."

He nodded understandingly.

"And as for undomesticated, I'd have to say . . . zebra."

"Interesting choice," he said thoughtfully. "I've never heard anyone answer with zebra."

"Oh? And do you normally ask a lot of people what their favorite undomesticated animal is?" I teased, taking a drink of green tea.

"Yes," he said, dead serious, his eyes burning into mine. I snickered into my cup. He chuckled and folded his hands on top of the soft and scratched wooden table.

We were sitting in _Books and Nooks_, residing comfortably into one of its little sections. Our table was located in the poetry section; Keats and Dickinson and Wordsworth were watching over us. It was just Edward and I, chatting like childhood friends with soft alternative music playing quietly over the speakers. It was . . . nice. And, amazingly enough, not very awkward. Slowly, the uneasiness was seeping out of my stomach and was being replaced by a warm familiarity.

I could get used to this.

"But seriously though," he continued, "I'm curious: why the zebra?"

I nibbled on my biscotti while I pondered my reasoning. After a moment, I said, "I suppose I like zebras because they're two-in-one. They are black and white. And sometimes they look like they're white with black stripes, and sometimes they seem the other way around. They are two things at once."

"I like that explanation," he said, nodding slowly. "It's insightful."

Against my own will, I blushed, and my eyes dropped to my lap. "Thanks," I mumbled.

"Your blush is adorable," I heard him remark softly, and my disagreeing eyes raised up to his. His voice was gentle, but his eyes smoldered. "Don't hide it."

I brought my mug of tea up to my lips with a shaky hand, and muttered against the lip, "Next question."

"Favorite color?"

I opened my mouth to say "teal," but the longer I stared into his emerald eyes, the more that my love for teal diminished.

"Green," I said quietly.

He nodded, and his mind seemed to be calculating my every answer; storing away for future reference.

"Favorite novel?"

I laughed grandly.

"What?" he asked, confused and smiling.

"I know that you don't know me well enough to know this about me, but—I can't choose a favorite novel! That'd be about as torturous as asking me to saw my right arm off or something."

He joined in with my laughter and leaned against the back of his chair. "Alright, good point. I'm the very same way. That was a silly question."

I nodded, still laughing under my breath.

"How about this then . . . could you name five of your top favorite novels?"

"I suppose it _might_ be possible," I said, and he smiled and tipped his head toward me, silently urging for me to continue. "Let me think . . ." I tapped my finger against my chin in thought.

Edward crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back even farther. "We've got all evening." He grinned. My stomach fluttered. "Take your time."

"Well . . . _Wuthering Heights_ is a given as one of the top five. I've read that book so many times, I'd probably be able to recite it by memory."

"Great novel," he agreed. "Tragically beautiful."

"Exactly. And then, second favorite—I really enjoy any book of poetry by William Blake. His style is so captivating in the way that it's so simple . . . and at the same time, so complex."

"I remember being obligated to read some of his works for high school, and I think I liked his writing, but I've never really read him since. Do you recommend him?"

"Oh, very much so," I said, and then took a swig of tea.

"Good to know." He sighed lightly, but it wasn't a tired sigh. Rather, it was wistful. "What's your third favorite?"

"_Water for Elephants_."

He grinned, and I could see that he was remembering our first encounter. "Of course. I _thought_ that'd be somewhere on your list . . ."

"You've read it before," I said, shrugging in his direction. "You know what is so fascinating and entrancing about it."

"Definitely," he said as he fondly caught his lower lip between his teeth. My eyes dropped to his lips and my face grew warm. "I remember, when I read the first page, I was hooked."

"And you stay hooked for the entire book," I continued, taking a sip of tea from my quivering mug.

"It's the plot—"

"And the first-person perspective—"

"And the timeline-jumping—"

"And the characterization—"

"That makes it so amazing," he finished, stunning me with another one of those crooked smiles.

I exhaled heavily, embarrassed that my attention seemed to be purely focused on Edward's lips, and quickly gulped a bit of my drink. My eyes followed the wooden pattern of the table. When I set my cup back down, there was some excess tea on my upper lip, and I ran my tongue across my lips to catch it. There was no way on Earth that I was letting any delicious green tea go to waste.

I heard Edward clear his throat, and I glanced up just in time to see him avert his eyes toward the table. His Adam's apple bobbed as he ran his palms together.

Lowering my head, I smiled triumphantly to myself, my face burning brightly. It seemed as though I wasn't the only whose attention was on the lips.

He cleared his throat again, and I looked back at him.

"Your fourth favorite?" he asked, his usually deep voice even rougher than usual.

"Fourth favorite . . . I'd have to say . . . _Speak_."

"I've seen the film," he said.

I nodded. "I have as well. It's just as good as the book, I think. There are some scenes in the novel that were changed and edited for the film—some of those differences I prefer, and others I don't. It's a fair toss-up. Either way, Kristen Stewart's acting is brilliant. Her ability to engross herself so deeply into a role is impressive. She's what makes the movie so truly spectacular."

"It's like you're speaking my thoughts," he said with a cheeky grin. I grinned back. "Also, I've always appreciated how stories about teenagers—_Speak_, _Harry Potter_, and others—can appeal to an audience that isn't made up only of teenagers."

"Yes! I remember this one time when I told my dad, Charlie, that I was rereading the _Harry Potter_ series—this was about a year ago, mind you—and he actually, honestly said to me, 'Bella, aren't those children's books?'"

He gaped dramatically at me, the corners of his mouth stretching upward.

"I almost disowned him, right then and there."

His head tilted back as he laughed loudly, and I smiled and traced the lip of my mug with a fingertip.

Once he recovered from his bout of laughter, he said, "I'm assuming he hasn't read the sixth and seventh books in the series, then?"

I shook my head.

"Because, honestly, the sexual tension in those last two books is relatively thick."

"I know!" I exclaimed. It was like _he_ was reading _my_ mind.

"Whenever I read the scene of Harry and Ginny's first kiss, it _still_ makes me sweat!" He returned my enthusiasm one hundred percent.

I gasped a laugh. "Me too!"

We both fell back against our chairs, our laughter slowing and our smiles growing at how much we seemed to have in common.

He took a drink from his mug, and I followed in suit.

"I hope you've narrowed your favorites down, because you only have one slot left open—what is your fifth favorite novel, Bella Swan?"

I smiled when he said my name. It sounded soft and lovely as it rolled off his tongue. "I'm not sure if you've ever read _The Nazi Officer's Wife_ by Edith Hahn Beer?"

"Actually, I don't think I've even heard of it," he said, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he narrowed his eyes in thought. He looked almost ashamed that I'd read a novel that he didn't know about.

I choked back a laugh. "Don't beat yourself up," I joked.

"You know that mug of tea you're drinking?" he said, suddenly grave as he pointed to my cup. I nodded in confusion. "I put that drink into your hands—I'll just as easily take it away."

I chuckled at his Bill Cosby reference. It was true, though, that he'd put this drink into my hands. Upon our arrival to _Books and Nooks_, he'd fiercely insisted to let him buy my tea and biscotti. I'd tried to refuse, going so far as to grin in victory and pull out my wallet while he was still trying to convince me, but he'd whipped twenty dollars to the cashier before I could even open my wallet.

I'd refused to make eye contact with him afterward, as a sign of rebellion.

Of course, that feat didn't last for very long at all, considering it was . . . well . . . _Edward_. Edward, with his soft copper hair and emerald magnetic eyes.

"In order for me to keep my incredibly delicious tea," I said, gripping the mug protectively between my hands, "what exactly do I have to agree to?"

"Don't make fun of my knowledge—or lack thereof—of books, first of all." He pouted childishly, and I snickered behind my hand. "Secondly, like I said earlier—don't hide your blush. It's too beautiful to be hidden."

As if on cue, I flushed brilliantly, but just as I began to duck my head, his finger caught my chin and he raised it upward gently.

"What did I just say?" he murmured tenderly. He was staring at me so delicately, I felt my heart skip a beat.

I was rendered incapable of answering his rhetorical question.

"I said," he continued in the same soft tone, his warm thumb gently stroking circles into my chin, "don't hide that beautiful blush, or I'll be forced to steal away your tea."

He seemed unwilling to move as he slowly—so slowly—pulled his hand from my face and rested it on the tabletop.

I was surprised to find myself just as unwilling for him to let go.

He smiled kindly at me, his eyes twinkling, and when I laughed, my breath was trembling. Running the back of my hand across my forehead, I said, "Do you, um, do you want to know what _The Nazi Officer's Wife_ is about?"

"Yes, please," he requested quietly.

I tried desperately to clear the flush from my cheeks as I spoke. "It's . . . it's written by Edith Hahn Beer, and it's an autobiographical story about her life. The novel is about her life as she grew up in, and survived, World War II. It's a bit slow-paced, but if anything, that adds more to the tone of the story. And the fact that it's all an entirely true account just . . . enhances it so magnificently."

"I've always loved novels that pertain to historic moments," he commented, and I could only nod in agreement. "And this sounds so intriguing. I'll have to find it somewhere—"

"If you want," I interrupted, "you can borrow it from me, and return it when you're finished."

His eyes lit up. "Really? Could I?"

"Absolutely," I said, smiling. And then I raised an eyebrow at him. "That is, of course, assuming that you're a good book parent?"

Placing a hand over his chest, he promised, "I swear on my life."

"I take the care and quality of my novels very seriously," I warned him. I saw him bite his lip to hide a smile—at least he realized that I was completely serious about this and was attempting to keep his amusement to himself. "I don't mind worn-in spines and dog-eared pages. But what I _do_ mind are coffee stains, ripped corners, and—"

"I would do nothing of the sort," he guaranteed to me with a reassuring smile.

After scrutinizing him for a long moment, I nodded certainly. "Alright. _The Nazi Officer's Wife_ is yours for however long you need it."

"You're the best." He grinned at me, successfully causing my bones to turn to putty.

We settled into a comfortable silence then, sipping down the rest of our teas, sharing glances between our scoping of the shelves of books that stood on three sides of our nook. I swallowed the last of my tea and chewed the final bite of my biscotti, brushing the crumbs off of my top.

"Well," I said slowly as I stood up and stretched my arms, "I think I'm going to head home."

He hummed. "I think I will, too," he said, standing up as well.

I tossed my biscotti wrapper into a nearby trash bin and picked up my mug. "So, I guess I'll see you . . . soon."

"What are you talking about? I'm walking you home."

I shook my head. "No, you don't have to. I swear. It's late and—"

"Exactly," he insisted, as if I was missing some big part of the picture. "I refuse to let you walk home, at this hour, by yourself, in _New York City_. Come on, Bella—I've got more chivalry than that."

I stared at him for a long moment, addicted to the green in his eyes. "You're not letting this go, are you?"

He tapped a finger against his chin. "Mm . . . nope."

I sighed dramatically, but I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. "Oh _alright_, let's go then."

*

Edward walked me all the way to Alice's apartment in the nearly-frigid night, lending me his tuxedo jacket when he saw me shivering, and placing his hand gently against the small of my back when we crossed streets and intersections. I unlocked the apartment when we reached it—Alice and Jasper weren't yet home—and grabbed _The Nazi Officer's Wife_ from the guest room and brought it to him. Once again, he assured me that it would be well cared for, and I believed him. I handed him back his jacket, and before he left, he touched his lips to the back of my hand and wished me a good night.

It took hours for me to calm my fluttering heart.

And just before I went to bed, I received a text message on my cell phone. When I opened it up, it was from my mystery man, and it read:

_I had been planning on calling you today.  
Unfortunately, I didn't get a chance to.  
Some unforeseeable interactions came about.  
But I just wanted to tell you—  
Happy Halloween.  
And may you have sweet dreams._

That night, my dreams happened to involve a certain green-eyed, pale-faced, copper-haired man, with a crooked grin and warm hands.

And my dreams were most definitely sweet.

*

if you liked this chapter, please let me know what you thought! a review or pm would be lovely. thanks for reading; have a great weekend!


	5. The Interview

(ff has been a bit glitchy today, so i hope everyone gets the notification email!)

so . . . i love you guys? yeah. yes. i really truly do. i can't even put into words how much i do. (you see how long these chapters are? i must _really_ love you guys. seriously.)

the end of the first semester had me busy, but right now, i've got a week off before second semester begins, SO this bad boy is being posted. _this_, the two-week-span-ish, will most likely be my posting schedule. i don't want to get your hopes up for quick updates or anything like that. because long chapters take lots of time, let me tell you what, haha.

oh, hey, there's this really awesome awards site. they're the eddie awards and the bellie awards. the site is so unique and cool and thorough! there's a link for it on my profile, and it'd be awesome for you to check it out and maybe even vote. (whether you vote for misdialed or not!)

aaaand this chapter begins the morning after the last one. if that makes any sense. um. yeah.

disclaimer: you see all this text below? i only own the plot, out of all of it. OH! i own ian, too! ~squee~

and viv—the seewolf quirks in here are just for you. you'll recognize them, haha.

okay. enjoy!

*

**saturday, november 1st.**

". . . _to come in, babe, so we can chat this out. Call me!_"

Grinning, I quickly brought the cell away from my ear and pressed the button for it to replay.

"_Hey, Bella—it's Ian. I just finished reading your app. It is super nice indeed! I even showed it to some of the workers, and they liked it, too. So, what I'm saying, pretty much, is that you're a freaking success. AKA, get your butt in here . . . pronto. Just schedule some free time to come in, babe, so we can chat this out. Call me!_"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my excited heart. The beats were rapid and inconsistent, and the irregularity almost made me fear for my life, but I figured—if it came down to it—_this_ would be a good way to go. In this impermeable happiness. A few slow breaths later, and my heart was still racing. I gave up the calming act and just settled for laughing giddily and hopping around Alice's kitchen.

I hit the button for it to replay again. This novelty would never wear off, I was sure of it.

"_Hey Bella—it's Ian. I just finished reading your app. It is . . ._"

"And here, we see Bella in her natural habitat," a soft, masculine voice said from behind me. Jumping in shock, my free hand flew to my heart and I spun around . . . to find Jasper and Alice in the doorway. I heaved a relieved sigh and slumped against the refrigerator. My heart was literally going into overdrive now. If I got a heart attack, I was blaming it all on Alice and Jasper. That is, if I lived through the heart attack in the first place.

Alice stage-whispered to Jasper, "It seems as though the specimen is . . . partaking in some sort of . . . tribal victory dance. Arm flailing, feet hopping—the only thing missing is some crimson war paint splattered across her face. What on earth could she be so happy about?"

"And on an early Saturday afternoon, no less," Jasper mused as he rubbed his chin. "Perhaps she ate some really amazing Cheerios?"

"Or," she said, placing a hand lightly on his chest, "a piece of toast that came from heaven."

They both stared at me expectantly, leaning toward me, waiting smiles on their faces.

"I've got a job interview!" I cried, unable to hold it in any longer. Alice shrieked, and I plugged my ears, and she ran forward with the speed of a gazelle to imprison me in her arms. We jumped up and down, squealing like children. Jasper came to join us and wrapped his long arms around both Alice and I. Alice shuffled closer to him.

"I mean," I muttered into the thick mass of hair and shirts that were clogging my mouth, "I know that I haven't exactly _gotten_ the job yet, and we should probably save all of this celebrating for when—I mean, _if_—I do—"

Alice huffed. "Darling, you've got it in the bag," she said, punctuating each word with precise enthusiasm. "And when you _do_ get the job—which you will—then we'll go out to eat." She leaned her head away from my chest and laid it onto Jasper's chest, instead. "Your restaurant choice, of course."

"Pretentious?"

"Hopeful."

"I accept your offer." I smiled and pulled back from the two of them. Alice remained clinging to Jasper; he rolled his eyes, but couldn't wipe the grin off his face. "So, what are your guys' plans for the day?" I asked.

"We do need to shop for groceries," Jasper said, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Our kitchen stock is running pretty low."

Alice raised her eyes to his, and I recognized the puppy-dog face come alive on her features. I tried, mentally, to warn Jasper—it did not work. "And maybe," Alice whispered, in that innocently hopeful voice that I knew so well, "some real shopping, too?"

After a moment's hesitation, Jasper smiled softly down at her, and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Yes, and maybe some of that, too," he murmured against her skin. At least Alice was dating a man that didn't mind the (sometimes) superfluous amounts of shopping that she did.

"Do you want to join us, Bella?" Alice asked happily, her words garbled as she spoke into Jasper's shirt, and her eyes seeking out mine.

"Actually," I said, my bunny slippers shuffling against the hardwood floor as I grabbed an apple from the fridge, "I think I'll give Ian a call back now and see if he's free anytime this afternoon. The sooner the interview, the better, right?"

Alice narrowed her eyes at me. "You're not just trying to get out of going grocery shopping?" she accused.

"Oh no," I explained around a bite of apple, "it's not the grocery shopping I'm avoiding. The regular shopping—with you? Maybe . . ."

"You're like the worst best friend ever," Alice giggled. I grinned as I took another bite of apple. "But I wouldn't trade you for anyone else." She sighed one last time into Jasper's chest, and then lightly pushed herself away from him and caught my free hand. "Now, let's go pick out the perfect interview outfit!" She tugged me in the direction of our bedrooms.

I rolled my eyes as my feet desperately tried to keep up with her pace, without having me land face-first on the floor. "Alice, you've never been to _Books and Nooks_, but if you had, then you'd know: it's a very casual place to work."

"Doesn't matter."

"There are no uniforms," I tried again.

"Okay . . . still doesn't matter."

I whipped my head back to Jasper—my last hope. "Help me," I wheezed dramatically.

He just chuckled and shook his head. "You're on your own, Bella."

"I don't like you very much at all," I groaned, and then I turned around and I was face to face with Alice's closet.

God help me.

*

After Alice was finished dressing me and perfecting my hair, she and Jasper left to go on their shopping excursion. I scrolled through my recent calls and dialed the one missed call I'd received overnight. As the phone rang, I looked over myself in the mirror. I was thankful that Alice had at least taken my "casual" comment to heart, pairing simple dark-wash skinny jeans with a slim-fitting white tee. She'd insisted that I wore her crocheted winter boots, and I couldn't resist when she'd asked so politely—so her camel-colored crocheted boots covered my feet.

"Hello?" a rough but cheery voice answered.

"Ian?" I clarified.

"Yes! And let me guess—this is Bella, right?"

I laughed, examining my hair in the mirror. My annoying straight hair actually looked half-decent in the high ponytail. "How did you know?"

"My memory is impeccable." I could tell he was grinning. "And you're totally looking at yourself in the mirror."

"What?" I asked, startled, as I glanced around Alice's bedroom, making sure that sprite and lanky little Ian wasn't hiding behind the door of the bedspread. Knowing Ian's personality, it honestly wouldn't have surprised me if he _had_ been hiding somewhere in the room.

"I can tell," he said, chuckling. "Trust me—I've looked at myself many a time in the mirror while I'm on the phone with someone. I know what it sounds like. And anyway, I'm sure you look dazzling."

"Oh," I said weakly, strangely embarrassed for being caught doing something slightly vain.

"Don't sweat it. So, what can I do you for?"

I cleared my throat. "I just got your message about my application this morning, and I was wondering if you're free for the deciding interview this afternoon."

"I'll be at _Books and Nooks_ all afternoon, babe," he said. "Come on over anytime."

"Great! I'll be over in about half an hour."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see you in a few!"

"Bye."

_Click_.

The walk to _Books and Nooks_ was calming and rejuvenating. I took my time, knowing that I was in no hurry to get there, and I used the time to my advantage. My eyes traced the familiar buildings as my mind went over possible interview questions, and my possibly answers for those questions. When I passed the sidewalk where my favorite smoothie stand usually stood, I sighed sadly at its void. It was November 1st, which meant that my smoothie stand was officially closed until March 1st. I was glad at least that the wind, which had been blowing hard earlier in the day, seemed to still on my trip to my job interview.

My phone buzzed inside my pants pocket, and I pulled it out and looked at the screen. My legs stopped.

_YOU HAVE AN INCOMING CALL FROM:  
Mystery Man_

I flushed when I saw the words "Mystery Man" pop-up. I'd added him into my contacts under that name last night after I'd gotten his text, but the name seemed so official, blinking in thick black letters on my cell phone's screen.

As usual, butterflies flew frantically in the pit of my stomach as I brought the phone up to my ear and answered it.

"Hello?" My voice was higher than usual, anticipation getting the better of it. I began walking again.

His voice was deeper than I remembered it. "Long time no talk."

"Tell me about it," I remarked breathlessly.

"How have you been?" he asked warmly. "How was your Halloween?"

I laughed, trying to describe yesterday evening. "My Halloween was . . . eventful." The word seemed to fit. "Colorful, too. What about yours?"

"The same as yours," he chuckled. My breath hitched. It seemed like forever since I'd heard his laugh; I'd forgotten how wonderful it sounded. "So . . . what are you up to now?" he asked.

"Actually," I said excitedly, "I'm on my way to a job interview."

"That's wonderful!" he exclaimed, and I grinned. He sounded as happy for me as I was for myself. "Congratulations. I know you'll get it."

"Alice said the same thing to me, earlier today. It seems as though everyone has more faith in me than I do."

"Well, don't let that be true," he said with a note of finality. "You seem like a well-to-do girl—woman, excuse me, _woman_—and don't let yourself believe any different."

My cheeks grew red when he corrected himself. "I'll try my darnedest to do that, _Dad_," I teased.

"I have faith in you."

"And that's all I can ask for in a father."

"Okay," he said with a chuckle, "enough of this father talk. I refuse to role-play as your dad. It just doesn't—it wouldn't be—I don't—just—no."

"Whatever you say," I managed to say through fits of laughter.

He let out a quick breath. "Now that _that_ subject is done—what job are you being interviewed for?"

I bit my lip.

"Or would that—I'm not sure—the rules—would it—cross over—count as—"

_Is exchanging workplaces too personal?_ Instinctively, I knew that was what he was trying to ask me. _Would that make our strange phone friendship just a bit too . . . close?_ My heart pounded hard against my ribcage at the thought of telling him where I was applying—and, in turn, him knowing where I could be possibly working. But my mind dissuaded me from telling him anything of that nature—from telling him anything that could be considered too personal.

I was caught between logic and longing, not knowing which one to give in to. So I avoided both.

"Are you on some sort of . . . substance? Or are you just having difficulty making your mouth function?" I mocked gently, trying to easily swerve him away from what he was going to ask.

"I don't know," he sighed. "Maybe a little of both."

"Just, whatever you do, save some of whatever you're on and give it to me," I joked.

"Will do. But how am I going to send it to you?"

I gulped. He'd brought the conversation back to the rules. My successful transition hadn't been so successful after all. "We . . . could always agree on a secure location—you drop it off and I pick it up?"

"That would work, I suppose. But—but what if I wanted to meet the person that I was handing off my commodities to?" I heard him swallow thickly. "What if I wanted to make sure that my things were being given into good hands?"

I exhaled slowly, and my footsteps faltered. "Trust, I suppose," I said quietly.

"And that would have to do?" he replied, his voice lowering as well.

"Yes."

"I'll remember that," he whispered.

I breathed. "Yes," I repeated. "Hey mystery man," I said, my voice still quiet, "I'm right where I need to be for my interview." I looked up at the _Books and Nooks_ sign, the familiarity of the words washing over me like a soothing blanket. "So . . . either you call me, or I'll call you. Alright?"

"Yes," he said, sounding somewhat downtrodden. "Alright."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye, miss."

I ended the call.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to shake off the conversation—I didn't want to be this sullen right before committing to a job interview. Ian might suggest I sign up for depression pills or something—because he would absolutely do something like that. After a few slow inhalations, I stepped inside _Books and Nooks_, still somewhat flustered. My cheeks stung as they began to grow warm.

"Bella," someone said, and I instantly recognized the voice to be Ian's. I looked around the café and saw Ian wiping down the countertop with a towel, a smile spread across his face. The corners of his lips stretched toward his rainbow earrings. He raised his eyebrows as he checked out my ensemble. "What did I say?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Cute."

"Ian," I replied, smiling. "Thanks. How are you?"

"Fantastic—now that you're here, sweetie," he said, throwing a wink my way and tossing the towel into a hamper behind him. "You ready for the interview?"

I rubbed my suddenly sweaty palms on the thighs of my jeans. "Yeah, sure."

"Have no fear," he said reassuringly. "Now, follow me to my office." He chuckled as he took my hand and we weaved back into the books section. After successfully finding an uninhabited nook, Ian gestured toward a free seat, and I sat down as he did the same.

"Shake out the nerves, babe," he said with a knowing smile.

I laughed, my breath shaky with anxiety, closed my eyes, jiggled my arms, and shook my head. When I opened my eyes back up, they zeroed in on the light that was reflecting off a sparkle of glitter on Ian's cheekbone. Rainbow glitter speckled the apple of his right cheek.

"I dig the glitter," I said, giving him a somewhat lame thumbs-up.

"Thanks, darling. I was inspired by one of my favorite singers—he's a glitter maniac. Now," he said seriously, clapping his hands together. "Let's do this."

*

"I guess we'll just start with some basics. Does that sound good?"

"Sure! I mean, you're the boss, so . . . whatever you want to start with."

"Yes! You are catching on. I'm Ian. I'm the boss. I'm _always_ right."

". . ."

". . . ?"

"Of course you are."

"That's my girl. So, what is your full name?"

"Isabella Marie Swan."

"But you prefer Bella, is that entirely correct and accurate?"

"Yes, that is entire correct and accurate. It seems as though you've thoroughly done your background check, Mr. Ian."

"No . . . that's just who you introduced yourself as when I last saw you, Ms. Swan."

"Oh. Right."

"You're very pretty when you blush. Okay—and you were born in . . ."

"Forks, Washington."

"Otherwise known as 'The Middle of Nowhere, Never Been Heard Of, Will Probably Never Go There In My Life', Washington?"

"I resent that."

"But you don't deny it."

". . ."

"Mhm. Exactly. So, how old are you, Bella?"

"I'm twenty-two."

"Your birth date?"

"September 13th, 1986."

"So your birthday was really recent, yeah?"

"Just over a month and a half ago, yes."

"And what did you do for it?"

"Um, my best friend, Alice, and her boyfriend, Jasper, threw me a surprise party. A lot of my other friends and coworkers showed up, too."

"Was there a cake?"

"It was a birthday party—of course there was a cake, silly!"

"What color icing was on said cake?"

"How exactly does this pertain to getting a job here at _Books and Nooks_?"

"It doesn't. I'm just a very curious fellow, babe."

"It had teal icing. My favo—I mean—I guess my . . . my . . . used-to-be favorite color."

"'Used to be'? What is it now?"

". . . Green."

"Why the change?"

"Why the interrogation?"

"Feisty. I like it. So, let's move on to more serious questions. If you had to describe yourself in one word, what would that word be?"

"Hm. Those 'one word' descriptions are always the trickiest."

"Take your time. There's no need to rush."

"One word . . . maybe . . . dependable."

"Nice. What kind of shifts would you want to work?"

"Anything I need to, or that you need me to, really."

"We are especially looking for a Tuesday-Thursday-Sunday-Monday shift-worker. From noon to six in the evening. Would those hours suit you?"

"Absolutely. Also, I'm able to cover any shifts on the spot, so—if I'm hired—don't be shy about calling me and asking me to come over in ten minutes because someone wasn't able to fill their hours."

"Oh, don't worry, babe. I'm not shy in the slightest about anything, and that's no exception."

"If you don't mind me asking: what kind of salary would a new employee receive?"

"New employees are generally paid $9.75 an hour."

"Wow. That's . . . that's excellent pay."

"Yes. Our workers deserve it. Now: what made you want to apply for this job?"

"This may not be smart to say in an interview, but you're not exactly an objective interviewer, so I don't think you'll mind hearing honesty. I was fired from my previous job as a waitress because I'm terribly clumsy and it annoyed my boss to have me tripping all over the place and dropping dishes. So, I was already searching for a job. And then I spotted _Books and Nooks_' ad in the classifieds. The description was so friendly and personable; I decided to check it out. And when I saw what it was—a café _and_ a bookstore—I knew this was the place. I have a deep love for novels; I love reading them, I love talking about them. And I would enjoy working here at _Books and Nooks_ because I'm amiable, I'm knowledgeable in book, and I have experience with speaking to and serving others. I think your customers would like me, I think the other employees would like me, and I already know that you like me. Well, I'm pretty sure you do, anyway."

". . ."

". . ."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Swan. I'll get in contact with you about your possible acceptance to this career _soon_."

"Oh, you sound so official all of a sudden."

"Mm. I can be schizo when I want to be."

"Thanks for the warning."

*

"I'd say that this interview has been a . . . success," Ian told me as we maneuvered our way back to the café section. He looked at me over his shoulder. "Like, a really big one."

"Great," I said. "I'm glad you think that, because I was so nervous; the interview went by like a blur, and I honesty can't remember what I answered for the questions."

We reached the counter: Ian leaned onto the employee side, and I settled on the side opposite him. "Note to self," he said, tapping his temple, "never put Bella in situations that could cause her nervousness if she has to remember every minute of said situation."

"Hey, I can improve," I said defensively. "Just give me time."

"Time's all I got, sugar." His perfect white teeth blinded me as he grinned. He glanced around me, the huge grin growing even bigger on his face, and flicked his eyes back to mine. "Except for right now. There's my cue!" He pointed to the window behind me, and I followed his finger. A well-built man, at least six-foot-four, was standing casually outside the door, peering in at Ian, his hands in his pockets. Despite his clearly muscular body, short-cut dirty blond hair, and strong facial features, his blue eyes were soft, and they regarded Ian reverently. The man grinned when he saw me staring.

I turned back to Ian. "Is he yours?"

"Yes, so keep your hands off—no touching without permission," Ian teased with a giggle, tucking a lock of hair behind his hear and waving to his boyfriend. He held up one finger, letting him know he'd be out in a minute.

"What's his name?"

"Matt. Well," he said as he shrugged a shoulder and placed his palms on the countertop, "technically, it's Matthew. But everyone calls him Matt." He smiled at me lopsidedly. "Especially me."

"I see," I said with a smile. "You know, if he wasn't built like a wrestler, you guys would almost look like brothers. Similar hair, similar eyes . . ."

"I know," he drawled exasperatedly. It seemed like he'd realized this before, and already given thought to it. "So, let's thank the dear sweet Lord above that we are _not_ brothers. Because I'm not sure that incest is really my thing."

I laughed. "Not to mention, it can be a bit creepy."

He pursed his lips at me, his eyes wide and glazed with wisdom. "You have . . . no idea."

My forehead creased as I took a playful step back from the counter. "You sound like you have, um, _knowledge_ in this matter. The matter of incest, I mean."

". . ."

"I'm not even going to ask," I snickered. "Just . . . yeah. So, you two have a nice rest of the day."

"And you as well, my dear!" Ian said as he snatched his jacket from a hook behind the counter and shrugged into it. "And I'll see you on Tuesday."

I gasped. "What? You—you mean I'm—"

"Hired! Yes!" Ian cheered, gathering me in a tight hug.

Embarrassingly enough, tears gathered in my eyes, and I hastily wiped them away. "Thank you so, so, so much, Ian," I said into his leather jacket. His hand was rubbing sweetly up and down my back. "You won't regret it, I promise."

"Oh, darling, I know I won't." He pulled back and grinned at me. "How could I? It's _you_!"

I heard the door open behind me, feeling the gust of cold autumn air, and I turned around as Ian walked toward the entrance. Matt's large head was sandwiched in between the doorframe and the door.

"Thanks," I said quietly to Ian. He smiled gently and nodded.

"Are you coming?" Matt asked in an impossibly deep voice. He glanced to me and smiled kindly. I flushed and ducked my head, waving at him.

"Not yet . . . but hopefully tonight." Ian whipped his head around to wink at me. "Repeatedly!" And he jogged off to Matt. I had to hide my laugh at the difference in their heights and sizes. When Matt slipped his arm around Ian's waist, a silly part of me feared that he might crush Ian's ribs. But, thankfully, Ian remained intact. Ian stood up on the tips of his toes and pressed his lips softly to his Matt's. I sighed and smiled at the two as they left _Books and Nooks_ and turned onto the sidewalk. It was easy to see that they were so in love.

"Congratulations," a deep, rich voice whispered in my ear, and I gasped and turned around quickly. Edward Cullen was at my right side, his hip pressed against the countertop, his hands in his pockets.

I closed my eyes and my head tilted back. "Edward," I said breathlessly.

"Did I scare you?" he asked. He sounded amused, and my eyes flew open to meet his.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes dramatically. "Oh, no, no, of course not. That's a ridiculous question. No, this is just usually how I react when you greet me. I get all flustered, expel all possible breath from my lungs, my heart jumps into my throat—you know, that sort of thing."

He grinned. "Good afternoon to you, too," he chuckled. "I'm glad I didn't scare the ferociousness right out of you."

"If anything, the fear induced the ferociousness," I pointed out, my pulse still frighteningly high from shock.

"Point taken. Moving on, though," he said as he pushed off the counter and took a step toward me. "It seems as though you are the new employee here at _Books and Nooks_. Or so I hear." His elbow nudged my side gently and he smiled. "Is this true?"

I nodded, grinning.

"Congratulations!" he repeated, except this time it didn't frighten me—it merely made a comfortable heat surge from the pit of my stomach up to my heart.

I smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

We both moved toward each other, then, seemingly to hug each other. But we weren't expecting the other to move as well, so we stopped, caught in our strange stances, arms slightly raised and backs hunched forward.

My face was crimson as I stared up at him, but his amused smile made me smile in return.

"This . . . is . . ." I said slowly. "Sufficiently . . . awkward."

He nodded and chuckled his agreement, and we both settled for his arm around my waist, giving it a tender squeeze before releasing it.

"My first day is on Tuesday," I said, proud of my accomplishment.

"So soon," he said, looking at me with an awe that made me blush yet again. "That's fantastic. And what are your other shift days?"

"Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday, and Monday. I—" A distinct buzzing came from the pocket of my jeans, and I pulled out my vibrating cell phone. It was the landline number for Alice's apartment. "Oh, it's Alice," I said, staring at the screen. My eyes rose to Edward's. "Do you mind if I take this?"

He peered at me curiously. "Alice, you say?"

"Yes," I said after a moment's pause, nodding and smiling. "She's my friend, and my roommate, as well."

"By all means, take the call," he said, gesturing toward my cell phone. The wrinkle remained in his forehead, his lips pouting. He shook his head, then, and his face became expressionless. But his eyes stayed glued to my phone.

My eyebrows furrowed at his expression; it confused me. "Okay . . . give me a minute." I brought the phone up to my ear and turned slightly away from Edward. "Hello?"

"Hey!"

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know that: one, Jasper and I just got back from shopping, so we're home. And two, we'll be having company tonight for a bit."

"Oh?" I asked. I glanced back at Edward, who seemed to be memorizing every square inch of the floor, and quickly looked away. "Who's coming?"

"Emmett and Rosalie," she said cheerfully.

I grinned. "Great! I haven't seen him in . . . so long." I sighed. "Ever since I got fired, anyway. And now, I'll finally get to meet his girlfriend! Do you know how long they've been going out?"

I heard her hum into the phone. "I think they've been dating for two or three weeks. But apparently, they're really serious. The first kiss boundary has been crossed, as far as I've heard."

"Can I get tickets to the grapevine, too?" I joked. "I mean, honestly, how do you find out all this stuff? I feel absolutely inadequate in my secret-finding skills compared to you. How do you do it?

She laughed. "It comes with the short hair, darling. There's nothing to block my ears—so all the secrets just pour in."

"_Ah_, so _that's_ what it is. Finally, I've reached enlightenment." I grinned, and I caught Edward smiling out of the corner of my eye. "When do you think they'll be over?"

"They'll said they'll be here around seven—so in a couple hours."

"I'll be home in a little bit, then," I said with finality. Edward's shoulders drooped just a bit in my peripheral vision, and I bit my lip to hide a smile.

"Okay!" she chirped. "See you then!"

"See you," I said, and ended the call. I spun back around to Edward, and his eyes snapped from the floor to mine. "I've got to get going," I told him, and I knew that we both could feel that _unfortunately_ that was implied in the following silence. "My friend and I have got guests coming over."

He nodded. "Your friend, Alice, right?" His eyes stayed on mine expectantly.

I stared at him. "Yes." I sounded unsure.

"Okay," he said, and it seemed as though he was sticking that piece of information in his memory bank. How odd . . .

"But," I said, trying to lighten up the mood, "now that I'll be working here, I guess we'll see each other quite often."

He grinned crookedly, his green eyes glowing, and I was suddenly blushing and breathless. "Yes," he agreed, "that is something to look forward to, indeed."

"Well . . . I guess I'll see you on Tuesday, then." I posed it as a question.

"Definitely," Edward said, nodding adamantly. "You don't actually think that I'd miss your first day, do you?"

I narrowed my eyes at him as images of me spilling cups of freshly made coffee ran through my head. "On second thought," I said slowly, "maybe you shouldn't be here on Tuesday."

His head fell back as he laughed, and I laughed along with him.

"I've really got to go, though," I said after I caught my breath. "I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Yes," he said softly, his eyes locked with mine. One silky strand of copper hair fell down across his forehead, and I had to stop myself from reaching up and smoothing it away on impulse. My fists clenched.

I couldn't trust myself around this man. I wanted to do things with him, for him, _because_ of him that I'd never done before. My urges always tried to get the better of me in his presence, and the combined sensation of his beauty and his character had my heart beating into oblivion.

I wanted him to reach over and softly hold my hand. I wanted him to build up the courage and ask me out. And this strange, inane, reckless part of me wanted him to be my first kiss.

So I turned away with a forced—or maybe it wasn't so forced—smile, and walked straight back to Alice's apartment.

*

"So—how did you two meet?" I asked. I scooped a chip into the bowl of salsa and ate it in one bite.

Emmett and Rosalie looked at each other and smiled. Emmett reached up and traced the line of Rosalie's jaw softly with his thumb before turning back to the rest of us.

The five of us—Jasper, Alice, Emmett, Rosalie, and I—were sitting in a circle on the carpet in Alice's apartment. Emmett and Rosalie had knocked on the door half an hour ago, and the greetings were surprisingly comfortable, and not as awkward as I'd expected them to be. Emmett, of course, captured us all in one big bear hug, and then proudly introduced us to his girlfriend, Rosalie.

She was even more beautiful than I remembered her being on the dance floor at the Halloween party. She had pale skin and long, golden-white hair, which accentuated the vivid near-purple color of her eyes. They were violet, and they were so intense it was almost terrifying. But when she'd smiled at all of us and shyly hugged us separately, she seemed like the gentlest person on the planet.

"It's kind of . . . incredibly embarrassing, actually," Emmett said, and I could've sworn he blushed.

"Spill!" Alice shouted.

Emmett leaned forward, already in story-telling mode. "As you all know, I work for Mr. Varner as the mop-up guy."

We all nodded.

"So, the day that Bella got fired—about two hours after that whole incident, actually—Rosalie came in and was waiting in line to be seated. While she was in line, one of the new waiters accidentally dropped a glass of chocolate milk, so I—"

"Wait," I interrupted. "He _spilled_, and he didn't get _fired_?"

Emmett shook his head.

"I swear," I muttered under my breath. "Mr. Varner must've just had a death wish against me or something. Em, next time you see Varner, could you tell him I said . . ." And then I produced a rude hand gesture.

"Sure thing, Bells," he chuckled, and resumed his story. "So anyway, this guy spilled a drink, and I had to go out and clean it up. Right as I'm getting the mop out of the bucket, Rose walks behind me because she's being seated. Well, I wasn't watching where I was holding the mop," Emmett said sheepishly, and Rosalie wrapped her arm around his upper back and gave me a squeeze, "and I ended up hitting Rose right in the face with the end of the mop stick."

We all desperately tried to gasp back our laughter, but it didn't stay in for very long, and we burst into various forms of giggles and chuckles.

"Seems as though I'm not the only clumsy one around here," I said, still in the midst of laughter.

"You're okay though, right, Rosalie?" Jasper asked with concern once he'd smothered his amusement.

"Oh, yeah," Rosalie said, nodding and grinning at Emmett. "It got me a bit of a bruise, sure, but that's been long gone. And anyway—look what I got in return," she said, leaning into Emmett's side.

Alice nodded once. "If anyone is able to withstand an injury for . . . him," Alice said, pointing to Emmett. He laughed. "If anyone is able to do that, then they're pretty high up in my book. Welcome to the family, Rosalie."

She smiled widely at Alice. "Thanks so much, Alice." She glanced around the circle at Jasper and me. "I'm just glad that you approve of Emmett dating me."

"Oh, yes, of course," I said enthusiastically. "If anything, we'll keep you, and dump Emmett."

Emmett scoffed. "I'm glad to know that you love me so much, Bella," he said with sarcasm. He and I rolled our eyes at the same time.

"So Rosalie," I said, "how many dates did you and big Em go on before he asked you to be his girlfriend?"

She grinned and flushed delicately as she glanced sideways at Emmett. "Two."

"Oh, wow," Alice said, enthralled with the both of them. "You must've really made an impression on him!"

"Good for you, Emmett." Jasper reached over and patted Emmett on the back. "I could taunt you right now about settling down so soon, but now that I've met Rosalie, I can see why." Jasper smiled thoughtfully at Rosalie, and she nodded back with a smile.

"You all are so kind," Rosalie said. Emmett pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I was worried, after what Emmett told me about all of you, that I wouldn't be so welcome."

"Emmett," I said, faux-outraged, "what on earth did you say about us to the poor girl?"

Emmett threw up his hands defensively. "I just described each of you in one word."

"And how extravagant were these words, Emmett?" I asked pointedly. The whole one-word description reminded me of my interview earlier, and I wondered if—and hoped that—Emmett said "dependable" to describe me.

"Not too extravagant," Emmett said innocently, shrugging.

I raised an eyebrow.

"For Alice, I said 'omnipotent.'"

Alice nodded. "I'll graciously take that adjective, thank you."

"For Jasper, I said 'precarious.'"

Jasper thought for a second, and then shrugged, agreeing. "I'm easily influenced, I suppose."

"And for you, Bella, I said—"

_Dependable?_

"—'Stubborn.'"

I snorted. "Oh, thanks, Em. Omnipotent, precarious, and then . . . stubborn."

"Well, it is true, Bella," he said defensively. I glanced around the circle, and saw that everyone else—save Rosalie, who didn't want to get on anyone's bad side—was nodding.

My eyes flicked back to Emmett; he was watching me cautiously. _That's_ what tipped me off. Emmett was rarely cautious—especially around me. I stared at him curiously. "Don't take this the wrong way," I said, "but is there another reason that you came for a visit?"

"You're so intuitive," Emmett boomed, laughing. Rosalie smiled at me carefully from her seat beside Emmett, and I returned it gratefully. "Yes," he continued, "there is a reason I'm here. I would tell you over the phone, but I'm pretty sure I'll have to use force to get your _stubborn_ butt to agree, so . . . I decided to come." He stared at me guiltily, but his eyes were bright with excitement.

If that wasn't considered foreshadowing, then I didn't know what was.

I crossed my legs. "Okay," I said slowly, pondering what my impending doom could possibly be. "I'm scared, but intrigued. Go on."

"Let me give you some back story first or something," Emmett said quickly, as if he wasn't ready to just tell me what he wanted to tell me. "So, I've got this friend—I just met him pretty recently, and he's become one of my best guy friends, really—and he's . . . lonely. He hasn't come straight out and said that he's lonely, but I can just tell, you know? He doesn't have a girlfriend. He doesn't date at all, actually. He's either shuffling around the house, waiting for something to do, or he's off somewhere, reading novels. And I know that he probably won't appreciate this, and I know for a _fact_ that you won't be too hot about it, but I think it'll be the best for both of you, because you both seem—"

"Emmett," I said pointedly. My hands dug into the carpet-covered floor. "What are you getting at?"

He grimaced at me—but I could still see that glint of excitement in his eyes—and Rosalie took one of his hands between both of hers and interlaced their fingers to give him reassurance. He exhaled.

"I . . . see, I . . . well . . . it's . . . I . . ."

"Spit it out, Emmett. You're starting to scare me."

He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath through his nose, and finally blurted loudly, "I set you up on a blind date."

*

so, i actually have an _idea_ of where this story is going. and if my outline goes according to plan, then the next chapter is going to be really, really fun!

please review, pm, etc. i love hearing all of your thoughts!

(and don't forget to check out that super cool awards side—link on my profile. i'm not really eligible for a lot of categories, but the last six categories i am. if you want to vote for me. like maybe best banter? ~cough~ hehehe.)

have a nice rest of the week!


	6. The First Day

FF BROKE. WHAT WHAT. _so_, i'm reuploading this chapter, because i know that it didn't show up for some of you, and the reviewing option was disabled and just yeah. reuploading. enjoy!

*

guys! 100+ reviews for the last chapter alone? just kill me now with your amazingness. good golly miss molly!

MY LOVES. i apologize. new semester (i'm in 10th grade—let's just get that little detail out of the way) calls for desperate measures, which is why this chapter has been so long in the making. school is a _beast_, and when it comes down to it, passing a class and taking a break from writing ~insert the _is greater than_ sign~ failing a class and finishing the story. (lookie there, i know my math signs! hooray!)

i'm right in my high school career where looking into college is becoming VERY important, and preparing for the sats is BOSS over everything else, and doing well with grades is pretty much the only thing important in life, so that's taking up quite a bit of my time. i do apologize for the delay, but my updates will become fewer until summer comes along—then i _should_ have plenty of free time.

aside from that, though: i dig hearing what you guys think of this story _so. freaking. much._ keep it up—i love you guys!

disclaimer: stephenie meyer owns twilight and all recognizable characters. the things i own consist of: ian and _books and nooks_. that's about it. (but i really really love ian, SO THAT'S OKAY.)

as a last tidbit: there are two different dates in this chapter; this chapter spans across the day after last chapter (sunday), and then bella's first day on the job (tuesday). still all from bella's point of view, of course!

(okay, i lied: one more tidbit. i haven't really read over this to check for spelling and grammar errors, so if you guys find any, i'd supremely appreciate it if you let me know where they are! okay, that's it! thanks!)

*

**sunday, november 2nd.**

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No_."

"_Yes._"

"Alice . . ."

"_Bella_, _yes_. You will be going on this blind date, and you will like it!"

I squinted my eyes at Alice, who was looming menacingly over my bed. With her arms crossed and her nostrils flared, I feared slightly for my life.

"Alice," I sighed, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "Why are you pushing this when you know that I obviously _don't_ want to do this?"

"Babe." She plopped onto my bed and laid a palm onto my knee. "This is for your own good." I opened my mouth to speak, and she quickly continued, eyeing me with authority. "It's _healthy_ to get out of your comfort zone every once in a while. Do something fun; take some risks! Bella, you're not going to die because of one little blind date."

"I might."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "You _won't_. And if you do, just know that you'll do so in the pursuit of satisfying _me_."

"So my gravestone will be: 'Bella Swan. September 13th, 1986—November 7th, 2008. Died in pursuit of a man she never knew . . . and never wanted to know.' Yeah, that sounds _really_ glorious."

She smacked my knee. "_This_ is the kind of attitude that's killing your chances for love, sweetheart!" Although she was smiling, I caught the glint in her eye—the maternal glint, the glint that said _What I'm saying, I mean for real. So listen close._ I sighed. Was I really such a brick wall?

"I don't want to do this. At all," I said stubbornly. _Stubbornly_. Huh, maybe Emmett _was_ right about me being so stubborn.

"I know," she said, softly patting my knee. "That's why you should. It'll be a good, new, risky experience for you. You've always been left-brained: anal retentive about nearly _everything_, never willing to take chances." She grinned at me as she flicked my right temple with her finger. "How about tapping into that right-brain reservoir for a change?"

"This is reckless."

She raised her eyebrows. "This is a good experience."

"The guy could be annoying," I said with a shrug. "He could ask too many questions. He could not care one bit about me. He could text on his cell phone all night. He could drool. He could drug my drink. He could make me pay. He could try to slide past second base on the first date. He could be a pedophile." _Who knows what kind of people Emmett hangs out with? Other than the lovely us, of course._ I had to be prepared for anything.

"Or . . . he could be the guy of your dreams."

I sighed. "If only."

"It's possible." She smiled at me. "That's what I'm _saying_—give it a chance. You never know what you might get out of it."

Did I really want to do this? I'd absolutely have my cell phone, in case anything that I felt uncomfortable with was to happen. I knew how to locate each of my friends' houses. Plenty of people went on blind dates every day, I supposed, and nothing too terrible happened to them. And what was the worst that could truly happen? As long as I kept my head on straight and my morals intact, I shouldn't be affected emotionally _too_ harshly.

I nodded. "Okay. Okay."

Alice did her best to bounce on the bed while she was sitting. "Great!" she cheered, throwing her arms around me and squeezing with all her might. She pulled back and added, "See? Emmett was right: you really are too kind to stand someone up."

Narrowing my eyes at her, I smiled. "You _know_ he only used that reason as blackmail to make me do this in the first place, right?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "And it worked. Smart guy, eh?"

"Let's see who the date is first," I suggested, laughing and nudging Alice's side. "_Then_ let's see just how smart of a guy he really is."

*

**tuesday, november 4th.**

When I woke up on Tuesday, the first day of my new job, I felt like a ninth grader on their first day in high school. The furious butterflies surged in the pit of my stomach while I was brushing my teeth, while I was eating my brunch—while Alice was helping me choose the perfect outfit. My nerves were so high, I didn't even groan when Alice insisted on styling my hair.

"Bella, you need to calm down," she said as she ran a straightening iron through my hair. She glanced at me in the mirror and smiled sympathetically. "You're going to be fine."

Her soothing words did nothing to help me—though, bless her soul, she did try.

Unable to take any time from her hectic schedule, Alice had to wish me her _Good Luck_s at the door, and she and Jasper hugged me and wished me the best from the doorway. I smiled at them, my stomach churning, knowing that their words of well-wishing would be lost if my imbalance wanted to make itself known. I held my inept coat together with both hands as the wind bustled and blew against me. I cursed the weather for deciding to be particularly horrid _today_, of all days. Plus, I really needed a new winter coat.

I felt a buzz from my jeans pocket, and pulled out my cell phone to discover that I had a new text message. From _Mystery Man_. My heart thudded to a halt, and my stomach flipped even more than it had been. I clicked "OK" to view it.

_How did your job interview go? Was it as successful as I knew it would be?_

I grinned and paused walking on the sidewalk as I began typing back my response. I wasn't sure why he'd texted me when he could just call me, but perhaps he was at a place that he couldn't speak vocally. And, truth be told, I wasn't exactly distraught about his choice of contact—after our last conversation, I couldn't say that I was looking forward to speaking with him again.

_Fantastic! Thanks for asking. I got the job_.

His response came less than a minute later.

_I knew it! I had faith in you. You seem like too kind of a person to be turned down. For anything_.

I blushed and glanced at the time on my cell phone. 11:51am.

_Actually, I have to go and begin my new job right now. I'll get in touch with you later?_

Less than thirty seconds later:

_Sounds magnificent. Good luck! I wish I could be there with you now, to wish you the best in person_.

Biting my lip, I mulled over what to say. _I wish I could see you now, too_? _Stop trying to break out rules, you pesky rebel_? There was no right way to respond to his text message, so I did the best I could to satisfy his need for a response, without piquing his curiosity too much. I did, after all, have to get to _Books and Nooks_ in a few minutes, and a long and tedious response wouldn't exactly work well in this situation. I chose the best, quickest response I could think of.

_Someday_.

I turned my phone off, slipped it back into my pocket, and made my way to _Books and Nooks_.

*

"Welcome to _hell_," Ian growled at me. And then he grinned. "Just kidding!"

I laughed. "Thank goodness you were just joking with me," I teased him. "I was about to renege on the whole 'working at _Books and Nooks_' thing . . ."

"Phew!" He wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead with a flourishing hand. "That would've been very, very terrible. I'm glad I was joking, too!" He winked at me; I chuckled behind my hand. "So, my umbre-Bella, let's get cracking—I'll show you the ropes."

He grabbed my hand and tugged me to behind the counter.

"First, I'll introduce you to everyone."

I nodded.

He pointed at himself. "I'm Ian."

"Really?" I gasped jokingly. "I never would've guessed. It's a pleasure to meet you for _the first time_, Ian."

He giggled. "Oh, how you delight me so. That"—he thrust a finger toward the café—"is Matt. I believe you've seen him before."

I looked to the tables and immediately found Matt—he was insanely difficult to miss. A big hulking mass sitting in a chair that looked as though it might break under his weight, Matt was seated at a table nearest the front counter. A mug of black coffee was on the table, and he had a newspaper lying open.

"Bella," Matt said in an outrageously deep voice. He smiled at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too, Matt," I said, blushing brilliantly. I touched my hip to Ian's. "This is a really great guy you've got here," I added.

Matt nodded, his eyes moving from mine and landing on Ian. He grinned softly. "Yes, he is."

"Okay," Ian interjected excitedly, "enough with talking to Matt and conversing about his obvious love and desire and lust for me or else I'll want to jump his bones in like five seconds flat." He pointed to the other workers—_my new coworkers_—that were spread throughout the shop.

"That's Sam, Jensen, Veronica, Leilani, and AJ. Say hello, guys."

"Hey!" they all called from their various spots around the store. I'd been following Ian's finger as it pointed to each other person, and tried to commit their names and images to memory. Sam was a lanky boy with black-framed glasses who must've been in high school. Jensen was a beefy, stout man, with a buzz cut and a shirt proudly proclaiming "I HEART NEW YORK." Veronica had wavy black hair and her jean shorts showed off her long, tan legs: she was so exotic. Leilani was a petite woman who looked like she was twenty, wearing Birkenstocks and had her hair thrown up in a ponytail. And AJ was, to put in quite childish—but literal—terms, a babe. With cropped blond hair, a snug-fitting lime green shirt, and a smile that made his whole face light up, he was nothing short of hunky.

Then again, he wasn't a very handsome man. (Purely because he didn't have copper hair or emerald eyes.)

"Quit checking out the coworkers, babe," Ian teased me, and my eyes found his again. "If my mind recalls correctly, you've already got a super gorgeous _beast_, hot on your heels and crazy for you."

"Hey," Matt called, and we both looked at him. He grinned lopsidedly at Ian. "You can only call _me_ the super gorgeous beast, remember?"

I laughed as Ian blew him a kiss and struck him a pose. "Of course, my darling," Ian drawled, and he turned back to me. "From now until three o'clock, you'll be manning the front counter," Ian explained, his palms meeting the countertop. His forehead creased, and he added, "Er . . . _wo_manning the front counter, I guess. Wait, this doesn't sound right. Let me restate: you will be _watching_ the front counter."

I laughed and rapped on the counter with my knuckles. "Got it."

He pointed to a two-page compilation, stapled and perched beside the register. "Here's the list of the foods and beverages, and their prices. If there's anything you're not sure about, I'll be around, and so will all of the other workers."

I nodded.

"Then, from three to six, you and I will switch off, and I'll man—I mean _watch_—the front counter while you run errands around the store." He smiled at me. "Capiche?"

"It doesn't sound _too_ difficult," I said, wiping the sweat from my palms onto my jeans. "I think I should be able to manage."

"Awesome! You go, girl." He kissed my cheek and brushed past me, walking toward the nook section of _Books and Nooks_. "Again, I'm around. We're all around." He gestured toward the others working in the kitchen and in various places of the café, and they all smiled at me. I returned their welcomes as best as I could. "Just give us a holler if you need anything!"

"Thanks, Ian." He gallivanted off, and I turned back to my new coworkers. "Hey everyone," I said, taking a deep breath. "I'm Bella."

*

My first day was, to put it bluntly and truthfully, _great_. I hadn't spilled one drip of tea; I only needed to ask about an item's price twice throughout the entire three hours; I seemed to make the customers happy at the front counter, and didn't run into anyone while doing shop errands. I wasn't sure why I'd been so worried when I woke up—this day surely wasn't a cakewalk, but it also didn't emotionally scar me for life. It was pleasant, and I was looking forward to many more days, exactly like this one.

I blew a strand of hair from my face as Sam took over my spot as errand-runner for the shop.

"I've got it from here," he said in his naturally quiet voice, and he smiled down at me with big doe eyes.

"Thanks! I guess I'm . . . free to go now, then. Since my shift is over." Both of my sentences sounded like questions.

Sam looked as though he was about to answer my questions-but-not-really-sentences when I heard from across the building, "Yep! Go ahead and get gone if you want! You had a great first day! I'm looking forward to seeing more of you! Don't forget that your workdays are Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday, and Monday! See you then!"

I glanced up at Sam, both of us staring at each other for a long moment, and then we both broke into quiet laughter. "I'll see you later, Sam," I chuckled, and he waved goodbye to me when I started walking back toward the counter. "Oh, Ian," I murmured under my breath as I snatched my coat from the coat rack and returned to my place in the nook section. He had the ears of a hawk. Him and Alice would get along so incredibly well. I had to introduce them at some point. _Mental note: bring Alice with me to_ Books and Nooks _at some point soon_.

Finding a free nook, I set my coat down on the table and rested against it, my upper-thighs leaning against the edge of the table. Now that my shift was over, I figured it'd be acceptable for me to turn my cell phone back on. I held down the "End" button as it vibrated to life. A few seconds after it turned on, a notification popped up onto the screen for a new text message from, expectedly, my mystery man. I pressed a button to view it and flipped open my cell.

_I'll hold you to it_.

I grinned down at the screen. What a persistent—

"What has you in such a good mood?"

I looked up from my phone to see Edward inches in front of me, on the other side of the table, standing and smiling down at me. His thumbs were tucked into his pockets, his copper hair in beautiful disarray, and his eyes were twinkling at me. I gasped—it was impossible not to.

"Where did you come from?" I asked, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"I've been here since you pulled out your cell phone."

I narrowed my eyes at him, confused. "How? I didn't even hear you . . ."

He shrugged. "I'm a ninja," he said, as though that answered everything.

My eyes snapped back down to my phone, and I shut it hurriedly and shoved it back into my pocket. "It's nothing," I said, answering his question from before. My eyes found his once again. "Just a text message."

His grin spread across his entire face.

"What?"

He shrugged. "It's nothing," he teased, repeating my words.

I stared at him, with his raised eyebrow and barely-repressed cocky grin, and clucked my tongue in his general direction. "_Right_," I said dubiously. "You are _super_ convincing. Of course it's nothing."

"Now, I'm going to completely annoy you by changing the subject," he warned me.

"Oh, go right ahead." I chuckled.

"I haven't seen you for two entire days!" He clapped his hands together and shrugged melodramatically. "It has been _forever_. You even look older. It's crazy stuff."

I laughed. "Tell me about it—I'm pretty sure you've grown some scruff since our last meeting." Without my mind's permission, my eyes dropped from his to his jaw line, where I scrutinized his clean-shaven face. "Then again," I sighed, touching the back of a hand to my forehead, "maybe not."

"Alas, a girl can always dream of scruff, though, can't she?" His eyes twinkled as he mocked me.

"Yes, perhaps a _girl_ can dream," I said, playing along. "But a _woman_ on the other hand—such as myself—will always _yearn_ for scruff."

His jaw clenched; a small smile drew up a corner of his lips. "I'll have to keep that in mind." His voice was low and thick, and made a chill run down my spine as my skin grew red and warm.

Flustered, I tried to veer our conversation back on a normal course. "So, how have your two days been?" I muttered.

"Fantastic," he said, his voice still gravelly. "Thanks for asking. I read a bit—at my usual spot in here, of course—and just laid low and kept cool." He grinned at me. "How were your two days?"

"I got this job, I met my friend's new girlfriend, and I am being forced to do something that I really don't want to do," I rattled off. I could almost see his ears pique in curiosity, at which I sighed and shook my head. "Don't ask. It's a long story that involves a lot of hair-pulling and blackmailing, and if I talk about it too much, then I'll get myself all worked up."

He nodded, smiling to himself at my blazing irritation.

"Oh, hey," I said, poking my elbow in his direction. "Have you started _The Nazi Officer's Wife_ yet?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, leaning forward and smacking his hands on the tabletop. I jumped in shock, but laughed at his obvious enthusiasm for the book. "I just finished the fourth chapter."

"Pepi," I said, nodding—remembering in clear detail exactly where he was in the autobiography.

"He's sweet," he concluded.

"Just wait."

He raised an eyebrow. "Does he go crazy?"

"That's something that I just can't afford to tell you," I said, shrugging with a smile. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. You'll have to be a good, patient, little boy, and wait and see."

"You are cruel."

"You're calling the woman who _lent_ you the book in the first place _cruel_?" I tried to fake a frown, but failed dramatically and ended up grinning. "That's not very nice etiquette, Edward Cullen."

He stared at me, pensive and curious. I stared back, displaying the very same emotions as he. He rubbed his chin. I mirrored him. And then, "I'll show you nice etiquette," he said with a sense of ferocity. "Just . . . give me a minute to work up my self-esteem."

"By all means," I said, waving my hand nonchalantly in the air, "take all the time you need."

"Bella," Edward said, and he was suddenly quite serious. I could see his fingers fumbling. "Bella. Do you think you . . . would be interested in . . . um . . ." He rubbed the nape of his neck with a shaky hand.

I raised my eyebrows. "Yes?" I prodded with a small smile.

"Are you free on Friday night?" he asked, and sucked in a breath. His eyes locked with mine, expectant and pleading, and any train of thought in my mind instantly derailed. I didn't want to assume anything, of course—he could be asking me to change his cat's litter box because he would be going on vacation, for all I knew about him. But it seemed as though this beautiful, interesting, humorous, and (thus-far) kind man was requesting to do something, _with me_, on Friday evening. Friday evening. Friday night. Beginning of the weekend. Friday was the premium night for a _date night._

My adrenaline surged as a fresh wave of heat coursed through my body and my face burned red.

If annoying little Emmett hadn't secretly set me up on that blind date, and I _did_ have Friday night free, would I tell Edward that my Friday night was free? Did I want to think of Edward, like that, as more than a friend? As a possible . . . date-friend?

_I already do think of him like that_, my mind screamed. I shook my head, hoping the movement would shake up my thoughts and make them helpful, rather than condescending.

_Condescending . . . and truthful_, my mind added. I sighed.

My thoughts flashed to Mystery Man and the friendship I'd formed with him over the phone. If I went out with Edward, would I tell Mystery Man? And if I did, what would he think? Would our conversations become awkward? I pretended I didn't think of it as cheating on my mystery man.

It was then that I realized that I didn't know if Mystery Man was single or not. And that there was _so much more_ that I didn't know about my phone friend.

_I am thinking way too much into this._

Edward was still staring at me, waiting for my answer, the corners of his eyes crinkled in anticipation.

"I'm not free," I said finally. My voice sounded weak even to my own ears; it was pathetic. "Unfortunately," I added, for his benefit as well as my own.

Edward's face fell and he averted his eyes to inspect the floor. "Oh. Alright."

"But," I said, shrugging and trying to cheer up the mood, "if it's any consolation, I would give anything to be free on Friday night. I'm not really looking forward to the plans that have been thrust upon my calendar, anyway. I'm kind of being forced to do something that I really don't want to do." I chuckled. "You know that thing I was talking about a couple minutes ago, about me being forced to do something within the past two days?"

He nodded, his eyes still glued to the floor.

"_This_ is what I was referring to. My plans for Friday are most definitely not mine."

His eyes flew to mine, suddenly hopeful again. If he could get me out of my sticky situation . . . "If this is the case, then what are you supposed to do on Friday?" he asked.

I faltered. Saying _I'm going to dinner with some guy I don't know to see if we click_ wouldn't exactly make a fantastic impression. I chewed over my words carefully, and then said, "I'll have you know, this wasn't my doing. Like I said before—these plans are by force."

"Kind of like how that Halloween costume wasn't your doing, either?" His green eyes twinkled as he bit his lip. "Oh, please tell me that your plans for Friday night will give me as much pleasure as that costume surely did."

I could tell that he really meant what he said, and that alone struck me speechless. My cheeks burned and I shifted my weight from leg to leg.

He smiled softly at my obvious embarrassment, and I saw his hand lift toward me before it quickly dropped, his fist clenched at his side. "I apologize. It wasn't my intent to embarrass you."

"Then what _was_ your intent?" I muttered under my breath, annoyed at my own inability to stay blush-free for a conversation. I rubbed my arm.

His jaw clenched to match his fist. "It was nothing," he said gently. His tone contradicted his expression, which seemed pained—his forehead was creased, his lips pulled taut.

I narrowed my eyes at him. His mood swings were making me uncomfortable and giving me this feeling of uncontrollability. "If you're trying to confuse me," I said, "you're being successful."

He chuckled bleakly, and I saw him flex his previously clenched hand. "Good to know." He exhaled, long and deep, and it was as though all the tension in his body left him in that one breath. A smile appeared on his face. "Tell me, though—what is not your doing?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's . . . it's my oaf of a friend, Emmett," I blurted, knowing that Edward would understand my lack of desire for my Friday night's plans.

Edward's eyebrows rose up so high on his forehead, I was surprised they didn't fly off his face. "Emmett?" he squeaked, and I fought to not laugh at the sound of his suddenly prepubescent-sounding voice.

I nodded my head obstinately. "He's set me up on this blind date with one of his friends for this Friday, and I desperately don't want to go, because a blind date sounds like the lasting thing on Earth that I would enjoy enduring. Not that the guy wouldn't be nice or charming," I reasoned, "it's just that I'd rather meet a guy by being drawn to his personality or charming good looks"—Edward grinned when I blushed at my own words—"in comparison to being setup with the man."

Edward's brilliant smile seemed irrepressible as he stared at me like I was a new person—with awe and astonishment. "So let me get this straight: you are supposed to meet a stranger this Friday because a man called Emmett has set you up with said person?"

I nodded. "Yes," I sighed pathetically.

"How funny," he mused in a mesmerized voice. "It's almost like déjà vu."

"And why is that?"

"Because the exact same thing happened to me, too."

I scoffed.

"Honestly," he insisted, his eyes bright with excitement.

_What? He had to be joking me. There was just no way . . . _I started chuckling, unable to keep my laughter in. He looked at me with questioning delight while my body shook with snickers. "What are you talking about?" I guffawed.

Edward grinned widely at my amusement. "I was told—by Emmett—to meet a girl on Friday, too!"

"You liar," I managed to say through breathless laughs. "You can stop trying to make me feel better. I'll just have to be a big girl, suck it up, and somehow get through the 'date'—if you can even call it a date. More like an impending death."

His eyes smiled. "No, really! I wouldn't lie to you, especially about this. I promise. I believe that you and I were set-up on a blind date—for each other." His face gave away the secret that he would be completely happy about this outcome.

I arched an eyebrow. "You're . . . you're serious?"

"Deadly." He nodded gravely.

"You know Emmett?" I asked dubiously, my hands perched on my hips.

He nodded again, his eyes urging me to believe him. Was it possible? Was Edward the "friend" that Emmett had set me up with? Could Edward and I both share the same friend and not even realize it? I couldn't wrap my mind around the prospect, but it wasn't an impossible idea, either.

"I still don't believe you." I pursed my lips. "Prove it."

He snorted, but he was grinning that crooked smile that I loved to see on his face. "How do you want me to prove it?"

"Prove that we know the same Emmett," I suggested. "Prove that you were set-up in the first place."

His fingers tapped against the thigh of his jeans as he pondered my requests. He clucked his tongue several times and then said, "Emmett: massive. _Beastly_. Short, curly brown hair. He loves to laugh, and anything goes as long as it's fun. He has a new girlfriend, also—if I remember correctly, her name is Rosalie."

_This cannot be possible . . . _"No . . . freaking . . . way," I gasped. I probably resembled a goldfish in its bowl: jaw hanging open, floundering for a way out.

"No freaking way that his girlfriend's name is Rosalie, or no freaking way that I'm right about everything?" He grinned, large and toothy and crooked, and it took me a moment to regain control of my thoughts again.

"That's . . . impressive, but it's . . . still . . . not good enough," I sputtered, fishing for an excuse that would prove his intentions to be false. I wasn't sure why I was so insistent to not believe him. If anything, having Edward as my blind date would be nothing short of phenomenal. But this shield around my heart was steadfast and thick with confusion, and it didn't seem to want to crack anytime soon. "Maybe you just stalked me, figured out that I know Emmett, and are pretending to be my blind date just so you can spend more time with me."

He laughed, his head tilting back. "That is quite a bit of work to go through, just to get a date with you."

"Oh, but wouldn't the outcome be worth it?" I teased, giving him a smile.

He looked at me and his smile mirrored mine, soft and sweet. "Without a doubt," he said.

I flushed brilliantly and ducked my head. "Right," I muttered disbelievingly. Either Edward didn't hear me, or he grew tired of my disbelief for _everything_ concerning him and his opinions, because he didn't say a word. When I looked back up at him, I said, "Call Emmett."

His smile grew—happy that he had an attempt to continue to prove his theory to me. "Okay."

"If you're really friends with _my_ Emmett," I reasoned, "then you ought to know his phone number. And if you _do_ get a hold of him, then get him to confirm—on the phone—that you have a blind date this Friday."

He nodded, withdrawing his cell phone from jeans pocket and scrolling through his contacts. "You really don't want me to be your blind date, do you?" he murmured, his lips twitching upward as he pressed some buttons on his phone. I stepped slightly in front of him so I could see what he was doing on his cell phone. Our shoulders touched from the intimate position, and—embarrassingly—my heart pounded loudly. The thump sounded deafening to my ears; I desperately hoped he didn't hear it.

"It's not that," I disagreed. "I just . . . find it hard to believe, that's all."

"Find _what_ hard to believe?" he asked as he clicked a button on his phone—his contacts list came up. I could feel his warm breath on the skin of my neck exposed by my ponytail. I gulped.

"That we both could have the same friend without us meeting before," I said, my hands wringing together.

I felt him shrug behind me. He reached the _E_s in his contacts. "Well, I have only known the ogre for maybe two weeks." I watched as the named _Emmett McCarty_ appeared on the tiny screen of his cell phone. My jaw dropped—he really was a friend of my Emmett.

As his thumb scrolled to Emmett's name and pressed the "Call" button, I whispered, "Now we just have to see if he did indeed set you up blindly. How did you meet him, anyway?"

Edward twisted his hand so the phone wasn't hovering over his mouth and said, "We both enjoy jogging in Central Park." _Ah. So that explained it._ We both heard the _click_ as someone picked up the phone, and Edward maneuvered the phone between our heads so I could hear not only Edward's side of the conversation, but Emmett's side, as well.

"Hello?" Emmett answered, sounding out of breath.

"Hey, man," Edward said, and I heard his tone switch from his _Talking With Girls_ voice to his _Talking To The Guys_ voice—now it was deep and energetic, rather than smooth and flirtatious. I rolled my eyes at the stereotypical sound of it all. "It's Edward."

"Edward! Hey. What's on your mind?" I heard Emmett fumbling in the background, and I squirmed closer to Edward so I could hear. "You're not already backing out of the blind date plans I made for you for Friday, are you?"

I didn't need to look up at Edward to know he was grinning in victory. The light gleaming off of his smiling, shockingly white teeth was metaphorically blinding me. Less than ten seconds into the conversation and Edward had already proved himself right, and me wrong. _Darn you, McCarty. I will get my revenge._ Though, was I really upset at Emmett for setting me up on a date with _Edward Cullen_?

It took less than a second for me to answer my mind's question.

No, I was not upset. Not in the slightest.

"No, of course not," Edward said, his words and my thoughts scarily alike. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it now."

"Oh yeah?" Emmett sounded doubtful but cheerful at Edward's change in mood. "That's great! I'm certainly no expert in matchmaking . . . but I think you and this girl will hit it off."

_Girl_? I wanted to groan at Emmett's word choice, but I couldn't let him know that I was right next to Edward.

Edward, on the other hand, seemed to want to gain as much information from Emmett as possible. "I know that this is supposed to be a blind date, so I can't know this young woman's name or anything like that." I glanced up at him, and he winked down at me. "But could you maybe _describe_ the lovely lady for me?"

"She's got brown hair and brown eyes," Emmett said. I rolled my eyes. Of course he'd begin with the physical appearances—he was _Emmett_. "She can have a pretty sharp tongue, so watch yourself, buddy: her words can cut _deep_." My jaw clenched; Edward tried to muffle his laughter. "She's stubborn. You can try to order her dinner for her, but I doubt she'll let you, unless you really persist. She herself is so incredibly persistent, but she can't stand persistence in others. She's hypocritical and completely self-deprecating." Trying to stay silent, I bit my lip so hard that I tasted a drop of blood. Edward saw my expression and tried to rub my back soothingly, but his hand trembled with his repressed laughter. "But don't get me wrong—once you get past the thick exterior and stubborn resistance, she's actually incredibly sweet." It didn't escape my notice that his comment was an insult wrapped in a compliment.

"Well," Edward exhaled as his thumb traced my spine, "that was quite a bit more information than I was bargaining for. Thank you as always, Emmett, for your poetic and kind way with words."

Emmett boomed his laughter. "Dude, I'm just speaking the truth! And no problem at all, my friend—whatever you need. Hey," he said, sounding distracted by something on his end of the phone, "I . . . have to go take care of some things. Can I call you later?"

I felt Edward nod at my side; my eyes were unfocused, just listening to the conversation. "Of course. Call anytime. And good luck with . . . whatever you need to take care of." He chuckled lowly under his breath.

"Later, man!" Emmett said quickly, and hung up before Edward could respond. Still chuckling, he closed his phone and slid it back into his pocket.

I glanced up at him and his sideways smile. "What's so funny?"

"Emmett and the 'things he has to take care of,'" he said, amused.

"What?" I persisted.

He arched an eyebrow at me. "You must not have been close enough to the phone to hear Rosalie's murmuring on the other end."

I blushed deeply at what those murmurs must have meant, but smiled all the same. "I should've known . . . those two were made for each other, I swear. Her kindness balances his boastfulness, and his desire balances her shy love. Not to mention that they're wonderfully pretty together."

Edward's mind, though, was in a completely different place. "I can't believe that Emmett said those things about you. Some I can understand," he chuckled, "the stubbornness, I suppose. But the tough exterior? I haven't seen an inch of that." He regarded me with gentle eyes.

The thought of Emmett telling Edward those things about me riled me up once more, and I huffed into Edward's chest as I turned around to face him fully. "Me neither. I feel kind of backstabbed, actually. And then he twisted that knife in my back three times in a counterclockwise rotation, angling it at a forty-five degree angle."

Edward laughed lightly. "Vicious, mathematical, _and_ melodramatic," he said, talking about my comment. "My favorite combination."

"I try," I teased. "Anyway, the way Emmett talked about me makes me want to not go through with this whole 'blind date' thing, after all."

"Now that we know we're each other's dates, it wouldn't really be considered a 'blind date' anymore, would it? I think it'd just be a date. Between you and me." He smiled crookedly, successfully making me fight to keep my breath.

"The only reason I was going to do the blind date to begin with," I continued, pretending Edward hadn't taken away my right to consume oxygen, "is that Emmett had blackmailed me with my kindness, saying that someone as nice as me wouldn't let my poor blind date down by standing him up. But if Emmett isn't going to tell my blind date that I'm nice in the first place, then I'm not going to be nice to Emmett in return, either."

Edward stared down at me calculatingly. "The way your mind works is fascinating," he murmured. "What are you planning, you conniving little girl?"

"Number one, don't call me a little girl. Ever. Don't gain that habit from Emmett."

He nodded with a quirked smile.

"And number two, I'm thinking about a little . . . revenge for him setting us up together in the first place. He knows that neither of us is really the blind-dating type, but yet he proceeded to follow his boisterous instinct and have us meet under unusual circumstances anyway. We need to get him back for that. And the best part is—he doesn't know that _we_ know each other already."

"Alright . . ." he agreed slowly, still staring at me curiously. For a moment, I was just swimming in his verdant eyes—and drowning in the process. "Any ideas for revenge?"

I tilted my head to the side in thought, my forehead creasing as I tried to think of something, _anything_ that could act as the perfect blackmail. Then it hit me, like I'd run into a brick wall. I grinned.

"My oh my," Edward murmured, our eyes remaining locked, "that's quite the malicious smile you've got on your face. What _is_ running through your head, Bella?"

I smiled up at him, my mind whirring with a plan. It was simple, and not many steps were involved, but it was sure to dethrone Emmett from his placement as King Of The Blind Dates. "Just wait and watch," I whispered to him as I found my cell phone in my pocket and pulled it out. Now it was his turn to sashay around me, his torso touching my back as he peered over my shoulder. I scrolled through my recent calls until I found the one that I knew I could count on. I pressed the button proclaiming _Send_ and waited as the phone rang.

_Ring . . . ring . . . _I could feel Edward's breath on my neck . . . _quit trying to distract me, Edward_ . . . _ring_ . . . "Hello?"

"Alice," I said, unable to wipe the excited and slightly mischievous grin off my face as I turned around and stared into Edward's equally excited emerald eyes. "Do you still have that picture we took of Emmett and Rosalie at the Halloween party?"

*

_dun dun duuuun!_

my second so-called "cliffhanger" in a row, i guess? i apologize. this was just the perfect place to end.

your reviews and comments are the cheese to my macaroni of a story. love you, guys!

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!unrelated: where the eddie and bellie awards are concerned, i'm not up for vote for any categories—but some truly wonderful fics are! _all_ the fics are wonderful. please head over there and vote for your favorites (link in my profile). thanks guys!


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